


Happier HOPEless

by Wireslide



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual disaster Shiro is my jam, Character Death, Demon/Human Sex, Dismemberment, Exhibitionism, Gore, Gratuitous explanation of gross sounds, Have cascading apocalyptic events already in motion instead, I don't do demons like most people, Listen this fic was supposed to be five chapters of fluff and porn okay, M/M, Pedophilia mention, Sudden violence, Vomiting, Voyeurism, Weirdly translated names, abuse mention, attempted genocide, bottom!shiro, demon!Lance AU, mentions of Lance having a fucked up past, murder mention, sub!Shiro, top!lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 151,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wireslide/pseuds/Wireslide
Summary: Shiro works for HOPE, the international organization of Human Oversight and Policing of Extrahumans. He's been assigned to hunt and kill a demon. His intel is not as thorough as he was promised.





	1. Dryreef is a Sanctuary

It had been a long series of flights, tracking down the subject of the alarmingly thick file in his hand. He tossed it on the hotel room desk with a sigh, closing his eyes against the unsteady swirl of the runes in his organization's logo. The letters H.O.P.E. shimmered slightly in the dim light, and the afterimage twisted nauseatingly on the insides of his eyelids. This assignment was a simple one; seek and destroy the demon in the file, who had been feasting on living energy for almost two decades now according to reports, and was now assumed powerful enough to cause a significant amount of trouble for most of the organization's hunters. Demons that fed unchecked for so long usually had reached the stage where manifesting horns, tails, fangs, or even flightless wings wouldn't cost them any extra energy to keep them physical. He was the only HOPE agent on record to have taken on anything that powerful and lived to tell the tale.

The file was unhelpful in the many details it left out; there were vague descriptions and one useless artist's sketch, and he couldn't think of anyone in their right mind who would name their child Lancelot, so that had to be a pseudonym. The demons he'd hunted before had had odd senses of humor, but even demons knew where to draw the line. Except this one, apparently.

He went through the contents of the file in his mind, turning away from the desk to unpack his toiletries. _Subject Name(assumed pseudonym): Lancelot Atrillo, Age: Unknown, Family: Anna Maria Atrillo, Grandmother, Human; Rochelle Atrillo-Cortez, Mother, Human; Marco Cortez, Brother, Human; Veronica Atrillo, Sister, Human; Luíz Atrillo, Brother, Human; Rachel Atrillo, Twin Sister, Tainted._ No pictures since puberty, a name that sounded like the world's worst alias, a tight-lipped family, and a trail of lovesick idiots who rarely realized they'd been chosen for supper until spoken to by a HOPE agent.

There had been two bodies left behind in a hotel room in Cuba; the reports had indicated that one victim had been fed on, and the gunshot wounds were likely the wife attempting to scare off the creature, which had wrested the gun from her and shot her in turn before fleeing the scene. The trail had led all the way to this smallish town in Arizona, just outside of one of the remaining military bases since the Unmasking. The military tended towards unhelpful when it came to HOPE--he'd dodged a swing from more than one officer in the course of his investigations. Grey-green and orange, he'd long since learned, tended to be far more bonding than DNA. The towns that thrived on military business tended to take their issues with any local Extrahumans to the base, rather than the closest HOPE office.

He rubbed his temple; he was already getting a buzzing deep in his ears, an all-too familiar headache, and the only person he'd spoken to here so far was the desk clerk in the hotel office. The buzz changed pitch; the pain spiked behind his right ear, and he yanked his telepathy screen off its settings right as it sparked and shorted out in his hand. He dropped the melting piece of metal immediately and pulled his weapon, shaking out his shocked fingers.

Whomever was visiting knocked politely. He spared a moment of awe for the thousands of people living in a town with an unchecked telepath strong enough to _melt_ a HOPE-issued screen. He opened the door with his tingling hand, weapon still at the ready.

The man in the doorway was white, with black hair and hazel eyes that squinted irritably in the too-bright afternoon. "Let me in," he said abruptly, "it's hotter than dragon's milk out here."

Having just escaped the blazing lot himself and with little desire to ruin the comfort his air conditioner had managed to provide, the room's occupant nodded and stepped aside to allow the man entry. He took in the military uniform--the embellishment on the collar indicated a Commander--and the way the man began unbuttoning the uniform jacket as he entered. It dangled from two fingers as the door closed, and he held his arms up to allow the HOPE agent to swiftly check him for weapons or magic. He found neither, and checked the Commander's dog tags--" _Iverson VII, M. G. A pos. Human-Telepath SA, 22-03-2194._ "--before tapping the man's elbow and putting away his own weapon. "What can I help you with, Commander Iverson?"

"You can start by telling me what the hell HOPE thinks it's doing, sending one of their bloodspillers into the Dire Wolf's territory without consulting him at all," the big man's tone was almost conversational as he settled himself on the corner of one twin bed. He allowed the agent to take his jacket to check it separately.

"The Dire Wolf's territory ends at the reservation line," he shot the officer a sideways glance as he turned out each pocket of the jacket, "on every federal map, including HOPE's."

Iverson scoffed. "What, the _current_ reservation line? No agent of HOPE is that naïve, right? The Dire's territory covers most of northern and central Arizona, as well as parts of southern Nevada and Utah. It has since before those state borders existed, certainly since before the old United State of America's governing idiots began denying the existence of the supernatural." He shot the other man a look at his suppressed sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. 'Extrahuman entities and unexplained science.'" The way those hazel eyes rolled spoke volumes of what the officer thought about that particular distinction.

It also gave an observant HOPE agent just the angle he might need to ease a little tension with the locals. He relaxed a little and offered the Commander a smile. "Actually it's just that I heard my training officer for a second there, correcting me every time I called it 'magic.'" he perched on the other bed, hoping Iverson wasn't actively reading his mind, "he'd start in on 'unexplained science,' and how 'magic is a word for simpletons, Shee-row-g'nay, and HOPE doesn't hire simpletons.' He could throttle himself with is own rage for hours." He finally offered a two-fingered salute, forgoing the offer of a handshake for the sake of the other man's telepathy. "Takashi Shirogane. I'm after a demon--chased it here from Cuba, so no need to worry too much about your locals. I'll have it bagged and out of here before any of them know they're in danger."

"Hunting in the Dire's territory goes through the Dire," the telepath seemed unmoved by the charming anecdote and warm smile, "I'm just here to make sure you eat before he summons you to meet with him."

The surge of hot alarm that shot up his spine almost reached his face. The military establishments had never, in his decade of working for HOPE, ceded dominance to an Extrahuman about anything, except in France. He'd been to a few other countries where the military had resented HOPE's presence because they interfered with the torture of non-military Extrahumans in a kind of foxhunt that occasionally ended in civilian casualties, but he'd never even heard of any place outside of France putting an Extrahuman in charge above local military assets.

He hoped, again, that Iverson wasn't reading his currently-scrambled thoughts, and delicately cleared his throat. "Well, then. Would the Dire object terribly if I ask my baby-sitter where to get the best local fare?"

Iverson grunted, and Shiro thought--hoped, prayed--it might be amusement. "Dietary restrictions?"

"I have trouble digesting fatty foods," the agent admitted readily. To Iverson's credit, he didn't even glance at the band on Shiro's right wrist, with its steadily blinking green light.

"Insada's, then," Gary got to his feet again, pulling his uniform jacket back on over his broad shoulders and making quick work of the buttons, "they have a nice whitefish with a lemon-pepper glaze."

"Not sure how I feel about ordering fish in the middle of Arizona," Shiro joked, grabbing the file and his keys to follow Iverson into the blazing sun. "It's Shiro, by the way." He wasn't certain if the squint in his direction was because of the sudden light or the offer of casual address.

"Yeah, I have an accent and the way I say your name will bother you," Shiro supposed such a powerful telepath was typically used to being right, but he wasn't as sure he was fond of hearing his deepest thoughts said out loud, "so I'm going to call you something you _can_  stand to hear me say." He looked Shiro over out of the corner of his eye. "I'm going to call you Phil."

The agent tipped his head, amused. "Because I'm a government agent overseeing Extrahuman activity in the world at large?"

Iverson's squint was inscrutable. "Because I can say it without you dying a little on the inside, and I like the name Phil." He unlocked his sedan--sensible, white, four-door, and as no-nonsense as its owner--and motioned for Shiro to get in. "Gary." The introduction was accompanied with a wave of his fingers as he lowered himself into the driver's seat.

"Nice to meet you, Gary." Shiro was starting to get the impression that the telepath's demeanor was as much a lack of social graces as anything else. "How'd you do it, by the way?" He rubbed his thumb over his shocked fingers thoughtfully.

"You're gonna have to be more specific," the Commander kept his eyes on the camera feed as he backed out of the parking spot, and Shiro took the opportunity to study his face. Square jaw, wide cheekbones, heavy brow ridge, almost ridiculously plush lips under a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. Shiro supposed that even SA rank telepaths said the wrong thing on occasion.

He'd been staring in distracted silence. "Uh, the screen," he huffed a laugh, trying to play off his hesitation as confusion, "it blew, before you knocked." He couldn't quite decipher the look on Iverson's face at the announcement, but recognized enough to know it was partially shock. "You didn't know you'd blown it?"

"I didn't mean to," the response was hasty, and Shiro wondered how many times a young, far-too-powerful telepath had had to offer those words. Gary cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. "The screens...even the best ones only muffle a mind to me. I could hear the screen, active, like a fly by my ear, but no background chatter. I couldn't hear you so I listened harder, and I know better. I apologize."

Shiro winced, thinking of the fried network of metal on the floor of the hotel room. "Well, just for endangering my life, I'm going to make you pay for lunch." He managed to keep his tone cheerful, biting back the instinctive demand to know who the hell had left an SA rank telepath so grievously untrained. He shot Iverson an apologetic look, certain he would have picked up the thought anyway.

Their eyes caught and held a moment longer than Shiro was comfortable with, given the fact that Gary was driving. The telepath's attention returned abruptly to the road. "I can't hear you at all," he said quietly, pursing his lips. He didn't sound puzzled or concerned; from what Shiro could tell, the tone was one of relief. He considered what he knew; A and SA rank telepaths usually developed their abilities before puberty, most went stark mad by twenty and either had to be put down to keep them from turning everyone they came into contact with into scenery, or killed themselves to escape the cacophony of other minds. There were less than two dozen adults of the classifications in the world on HOPE's registry, and Iverson wasn't one of them.

He made a mental note to speak with the local office about exchanging records with the nearby garrison. "Well," he finally offered, a little lamely and a bit late, "happy to ease the burden any way I can." He looked away, out the window, and wondered if 'mental silence' was something that should be tested for. It certainly seemed like it could be an asset to a HOPE agent. After another block passed, he dragged in a breath. "I don't suppose the Dire Wolf would be all right with my asking you if you know anything about my target? The name it went by in Cuba is--"

"I know who you're looking for," Gary interrupted him, tone brusque, "and I'm not going to help you." He turned left into the parking lot of a large restaurant and circled to find a space to park.

Shiro squinted at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? It's a demon--they feed on living energy. Its presence is a threat to everyone in the Dire Wolf's territory--including you and the soldiers under your command." He studied the lack of expression on Iverson's face intently. "Isn't it?"

"I'm your guard, not your encyclopedia," the Commander put the car in park and turned off the ignition, unbuckling and exiting the vehicle without another word or sideways glance.

The HOPE agent scrambled after him. "Wait, Gary--if there's something going on here that keeps people safe from demons--"

Iverson rounded on him and leaned down slightly into his face. Shiro suddenly realized how much bigger than him the other man was, and sternly reprimanded himself to pay attention. " _Humans._ " Gary corrected him shortly, mouth tight. "When someone who works for your organization says 'people,' they mean 'humans.'" He straightened up and turned back towards the restaurant. "Just...say what you mean, Phil."

"But it's not--" Shiro found himself hurrying to catch up with the officer's long strides, "it's not just us humans that demons feed on, it's anyone with living energy. Everyone in this town, human and Extrahuman alike, is in danger from this thing."

"Convince the Dire, not me." Iverson held the door open for him. "I think your whole organization should be locked in a building while it burns down around you." He raised both eyebrows politely, then turned his attention to the host to ask for a table for two, please.

His comment left Shiro reeling for a moment. He'd encountered hatred for HOPE before, of course, but most of the time it was a heated, visceral thing, snarled out between fangs or from under glowing eyes. Psychics were technically human, and Gary had spoken as mildly as though he were commenting on the weather. He followed the host in silence, instead noting how carefully people leaned away from the aisle as they passed. He saw no fear when they looked at Iverson, only immense respect. The fear and distrust was instead offered to him. He was a little confused; this was hardly a small enough town to be so openly distrustful of a stranger, and he didn't exactly look the part of a reputable government agent.

They sat down and accepted their menus; Shiro watched Gary surreptitiously over the top of his, trying to make heads or tails of how an unchecked SA telepath in his late twenties didn't terrify everyone around them. He rubbed thoughtfully at his earlobe before returning his focus to the menu. "Did you train your abilities at the local garrison?" He smiled politely at the slow lift of the other man's head.

"Galaxy," those rich hazel eyes seemed to look right through him despite knowing he was somehow mentally silent, "the garrison out here was founded by the remaining few of the US Galaxy Defense Force, so it's Galaxy Garrison." He took a drink of his ice water, setting it carefully back on the coaster in the ring of condensation. "Yes and no. Once I was old enough to attend the garrison's academy, I received specialized training to hone my gift." He turned his drink, coaster and all. "Before then I was in a private facility."

He glanced up again, caught sight of Shiro's suppressed grimace, and shook his head. "A legitimate one, for what that's worth," he specified, "'properly' overseen by HOPE medical staff."

"Is that why you hate the organization so much?" The other asked quietly, setting his menu down to give his own water a subdued sip. "Because--" he found he couldn't bring himself to say any of it--the psychic 'training' facilities even those overseen by HOPE, were a dark reminder of the bloody war after the Unmasking. He gestured vaguely instead, not sure he was hungry after thinking about those glorified torture camps hiding behind claims of legitimate psychic-medical research.

"My parents sent me to the one in Old Toronto, actually," Shiro thought he saw the faintest flicker of a smile on Gary's round lips, "it was pretty boring. Suppressant regimen, blood tests, card tricks, range tests. No electroshock, hormone therapy, lobotomies, or oxygen overdosing. The horror stories about the other facilities had my parents doing a lot of research. They were scared, but they didn't want to see me hurt." He waved a hand at Shiro's continued concern. "It's not like I was in St. Petersburg."

The example got his point across, and Shiro finally nodded, looking away. "I...didn't realize that hormone therapy could be considered torture," he admitted, absentmindedly running a finger down the list of appetizers, "to be included in that list."

"Growth hormones," Iverson shrugged, dropping his eyes back to his own menu, "harvested from people in the early stages of pregnancy. It supercharges the ability, in theory, in order to short-circuit the synapses that developed there and burn them out."

"No wonder so many psychics go mad," the agent breathed, shaking his head. "So, if that's not why--"

"Dryreef is a Sanctuary," their server said, quietly but coolly as she appeared beside their table. Her eyes were a bright blue with shimmering pink pupils, her hair as white and gleaming as distant starlight, and her skin a soft, rich brown. When she offered him a smile, it didn't reach her eyes at all and mostly conveyed a chill demand for silence. "That means we tend not to appreciate questions which invade our privacy."

Shiro lifted his fingers from the table in a show of surrender. "My curiosity tends to be invasive. I'll do my best to curb it." He fought the rising urge to offer her the satisfaction of a duel in the parking lot as her heavy stare remained unwavering.

"Lu," Gary broke her concentration gently.

She shook herself and blinked hard, then brightened her smile to the professional false cheer of anyone in the service industry. "Terribly sorry about that! My name is Allura, and I'll be your server today. What can I get started for you?" The glow in her eyes and hair faded, and Shiro could no longer make out the swirling pink in the depths of her pupils.

He dragged in a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, levering his eyes back to his menu so he could look anywhere but at the woman who made him want to offer everything he had to erase his offense. "Uh, I'll start with the gyro wrap bites, for my entree I'd like--would you mind telling me the sourcing on your tilapia?"

"There are three accredited local fish farms within an hour's drive," her smile turned fractionally warmer, "we rotate between the three so as to avoid encouraging unhealthy breeding practices and stressful situations for the fish."

He found himself entranced by her cheerful enthusiasm. "Sounds great. I'd like the lemon-pepper tilapia with the steamed vegetables and white rice, and an iced tea to drink, please." He folded his menu, which she accepted deftly with one hand. She exchanged a look with Iverson, then took his menu as well and retreated.

The HOPE agent nearly launched himself across the table. "A little warning that there were fae in your quaint little desert oasis might have been nice," he hissed, trying not to let the amused twitch of Gary's full lips distract him, "there's no way, as well-informed as you are, that you don't know that HOPE's official stance is that they severed ties with this realm."

That plush mouth twitched again, and both of Iverson's brows raised. "That sounds to me like something to take up with the local HOPE office," he noted mildly, "and to answer your invasive question, it's because my parents _had_ to do all the research that they did to find a facility that wouldn't abuse me. Because living in the world and hearing everything, I know how much fear your organization fills people with. I know the practices endorsed by HOPE, the hateful rhetoric it encourages--how it says Extrahumans were created as a punishment for humanity's sins. I know the statistics of Extrahuman suicides in reaction to that rhetoric, have seen and heard the mental scars it leaves, and have stopped one too many lynch mobs bent on murdering innocents to feel anything but seething, unbridled rage for anyone who wears that badge." He took another drink of his water, folding his hands once he set down the glass.

Shiro looked down at his own water, twisting it back and forth between his fingers to listen to the ice cubes clink soothingly against the glass. "I never really paid attention to the religious aspects of the organization," he admitted, then shrugged a shoulder, "HOPE can't control what people do in reaction to our policies or beliefs. I'm sorry it's so terrible for Extrahumans but it seems a little reactionary to blame that on the organization."

"Humans," Gary corrected stiffly, "HOPE can't control what _humans_ do or how they react, but your organization was literally founded on the premise of controlling Extrahumans. 'Human Oversight and Policing of Extrahumans,' doesn't exactly make that subtle." He shook his head slightly. "How can you 'not really' pay attention to the religious aspects? HOPE was literally founded by remnants of a radical sect of the old Catholic Church."

"That was over a hundred years ago, right after the Unmasking," Shiro scoffed.

Iverson shook his head again and let out a heavy sigh. "Starting to think the reason I can't read your mind is that you haven't got one," he muttered.

"You're very rude for a welcoming committee."

"Not usually my job," he grunted, "local HOPE agent should be doing this, but his sister has a dance recital today and she told him she'd break his legs if he missed it."

"So the agent assigned here is a local?"

"Family's been here since World War III," Gary confirmed, "moved from...New Jersey? I figure you'll be heading there later to yell about paperwork and transparency, and what constitutes vital information for HOPE to have on hand, so you'll meet him on your own. He and the Dire went to school together, so try not to make him cry unless your goal is to have a werewolf the size of a large SUV pissed off at you."

"As entertaining as that sounds, I think I'll do my best to be civil." Shiro shook his head, smiling faintly as Allura returned with his appetizer and a plate of simple nachos for Gary. "Thank you," he gave her a faint, uncertain smile, "and I'm sorry."

She raised both brows. "Certainly no need to apologize, sir," her accent was crisp and lyrical, "I'm the one who flew off the handle. Do you think you'll be needing any more dipping sauce than that?"

"Uh, no, thank you." He watched her go, slightly bewildered. "I don't--I can't figure out if that's some sort of fae aura or I really am this much of a disaster." He turned a dazed look on Gary.

"She doesn't have a special aura, she's just very attractive." The Commander shrugged. "But judging from the way you keep trying not to stare at my mouth, I wouldn't rule out 'disaster.'" The amused glance he shot Shiro's way made the other man cringe. "You aren't the only one. Lu's got a lot of fans around here, local and tourist."

"I can see why." Shiro pulled his eyes away from the waitress to give his lunch companion his best flirtatious smile. "I bet you do, too."

Holding up a finger, the bigger man finished chewing his nacho and took a quick sip of the soda Shiro hadn't seen Allura set down. "I'm going to stop you right there," he selected his next bite carefully, "I'm demisexual and you won't be here long enough to be worth the emotional labor to get past your job, much less any quirks about you I might find undesirable."

Shiro watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

He received a grunt and a shrug as Gary chewed, then swallowed. "A hell of a lot less than most people, since I can't hear how explicit your mind got."

The smaller man hastily washed down the gyro bite with a swallow of tea to avoid choking. "Kind of wish I couldn't hear that myself, sometimes." They both devoured their appetizers in silence for a few minutes. "Can you tell me anything about the Dire Wolf? I know the position is unique and genetic, and part of the heritage of the local tribe." He tried a corner of another gyro bite in the sauce, humming in pleasant surprise at the crisp taste. "I don't know anything about the man himself."

"Dire Wolves used to be...I won't say 'common,' but they weren't unheard of a few thousand years ago. Common perception is that they're distant ancestors of modern werewolves, back before weres figured out how to manifest wolf-man forms. The Dire jokes that domestication has always made wolves smaller, but I wouldn't recommend laughing when he does. His lupine form is about the size--have you ever seen a bull moose?"

Shiro shuddered. "I hunted one once that a well-meaning fresh vamp had turned. Told the home office that next time I'm taking one of the jeeps with mounted weaponry."

"Not a bad idea," Iverson nodded," the Dire Wolf's form is about the size of an adult bull moose." He watched Shiro's second shudder with a kind of vicious glee in the back of his eyes. "He's not a fan of outsiders, particularly ones who think they have the right to come into his territory and arbitrarily kill people."

He opened his mouth, closed it, then cleared his throat. "I mean, technically it isn't arbitrary, I have orders--and it's just a demon, anyway, there's no reason to act protective of it, they're...they're deadly pests. Rabid bats, at best." He took in the steady way Iverson stared at him, and sighed. "I'm going to be doing a whole lot of learning on this particular hunt, aren't I?"

"If the Dire doesn't just bite your head off right away," the Commander agreed. “But at least you acknowedge that not everything the agency taught you is entirely trustworthy.”

“Kind of hard to miss at this point.” The comment only earned him another vague grunt, and Shiro let himself lean back to enjoy his meal at Allura appeared again with the hot dishes and her entirely-too-disarming smile.

 


	2. Dire Wolves Are Big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's meeting with the Dire Wolf doesn't go as expected, he was not expecting to see his ex here, his disease makes itself known, and he finds his target.

He wasn't sure where he was expecting to be taken when the Dire finally texted Gary to bring him, but it wasn't a comfortable multi-story house in an affluent neighborhood whose children undoubtedly all went to private schools. Two of the houses they passed had actual grass lawns that were green despite it being late May in Arizona. As he got out of the car, he stared around in wonder at the amount of lawn care on display. He started a little when Iverson smacked his palm on the hood of the car to refocus him. “Sorry. This is...not..”

“Not where you were expecting to find a First Nations Extrahuman?” Iverson raised a brow and motioned for Shiro to walk towards the front door.

Shiro cringed. “Yeah, that's...that's really shitty. Sorry.” He ducked his head and headed for the aqua-trimmed door. It didn't escape his attention that Gary hung back by the car, and he raised his hand to touch the doorbell.

The door opened before his fingers touched brass, and he felt, for a moment, as though someone had forced all the air out of his lungs. The man inside had sandy blond hair with near-white highlights, rich golden-brown eyes that reflected the sun's warmth a thousandfold, warm dark skin, broad shoulders, and a solid musculature embracing a body a good four inches taller than Shiro himself. Shiro swallowed, blinked, swallowed again without registering a single article of clothing on the man's entire form.

The faintest twitch of a smile rattled him to coherency. “Sorry, I--”

“You must be Takashi,” the blond said simply, turning away to head back into the house, “don't let all the cold out.”

Once again dazed—this time by the way the man said his name—Shiro had to shake himself before he followed and closed the door behind him. It was heavier than he'd realized; a light scrape of his nails over the interior surface told him that the wood had to have been encasing a material much more sturdy. He toed off his shoes and followed the blond in his stocking feet, giving the kitchen a cursory glance—the basement door looked like the same wood grain as the front, so he could safely assume the makeup would be the same, the countertops were sparkling red granite, the clay tiles cool beneath his feet. “Are you the Dire Wolf?”

“Not expecting a blond half-Irish farmboy, mm?” Those gold-brown eyes still held sunlight in the amused glance over one broad shoulder.

“There's...no safe answer to that.”

Both brows raised—Shiro wondered how he hadn't noticed that they were so much darker than even the dark blond hair, with a touch of ruddy brown in their shadows—and the bigger man turned to hand him a glass of water with pieces of lime floating in it. “Smart enough to know a trap, at least.”

“Dumb enough to walk into one thinking I can handle it, too,” Shiro nodded to the locked back door.

“This isn't a trap,” the blond reassured, pouring himself a glass of water and taking a seat at the kitchen table, “just a casual meeting. I'm Adam.” He gestured for Shiro to take the seat across from him. “I understand you're here on a hunt.”

Sipping at his water, Shiro frowned a little as he occupied the indicated chair. “I suppose Iverson texted you during lunch.”

Adam's laugh could have put whiskey to shame with the heat it pooled in Shiro's gut. “No, actually, Gary's terrible at texting with any sense of decorum. It's all emojis and swearing. I got a file from the local HOPE agent.”

“On me?”  
  
“On your assignment. Aside from whatever notes you've added, we have access to the same information pool on the legal end of things.” He watched Shiro from over the rim of his water glass for a second, and Shiro realized that the sharp lime scent was Adam's way of evening the playing field for him as much as to make the tap water palatable. He watched the Dire's nose twitch a little despite the intent of the gesture. “But as Gary was instructed to inform you, no one hunts in my territory without permission—especially if you intend to hunt someone seeking refuge.”

Shiro snapped out of dreamily fixating on the Dire's mouth. “Refuge? You're offering sanctuary to a demon? Do you know what those things--”

“The young man in question,” Adam's tone made Shiro irrationally wonder if the air conditioning had just kicked on high, “is still under review. But I will not hear him maligned for the ancient sins of his ancestors and I certainly will not hear him depersonified.”

The faint scrape of heavy teeth on Adam's water glass told Shiro just how much temper he was courting. He let out a slow, heavy breath and took a long sip of his own water. He tried not to gulp. “I apologize, Dire. HOPE has very strict policies on demons, given past interactions that humanity—and other species—suffered through. The individual in question--” he couldn't bring himself to call the monster a 'man,' not of any stripe, “--has already left a trail of bodies behind.”

“Two,” Adam corrected gently, “both killed by gunshots, not drained of all living energy, and therefore not a provable demonic kill.”

“But there is proof that the husband had been fed on prior to being shot,” he couldn't believe he was arguing the details of the case in some werewolf's well-appointed kitchen instead of tracking leads on his target! Shiro rolled his shoulders a little, willing his anticipation of the hunt to go away. “Which you know already, since the local office gave you the file. Listen,” he leaned forward a little, barely noticing when Adam drew himself up, “by consumption or by bullets, this demon has already proven a threat. The people living in your territory are in danger. I'm here to take the danger away. I don't understand why you wouldn't want that.”

“Because fifty-three years ago, HOPE's policy for vampires was kill-on-sight, just as it stands for demons now,” a little of the Dire's irritation bubbled to the surface, and the growl rolled like thunder over the stone, “eighty-one years ago they had a similar order for the fae.”

Shiro thought about the bright, beautiful waitress with the starlight hair, and shuddered at the thought of driving iron spikes through her on orders. “Are you telling me this demon is harmless—or at least benign?”

“I'm telling you that you need to decide for yourself,” the blond pursed his lips, “you have permission to find the young man, but not to harm him unless he attacks you. Speak with him, Takashi—get his side of the story. I guarantee you that your organization has it wrong.”

“Without proof, his side of the story is just words. I can't disobey orders for that.”

“As it stands, you need to consult about your restrictions anyway,” Adam shrugged, “might as well ask your superiors to reconsider.”

Shiro started to get to his feet, as certain of his dismissal as he was that he had very narrowly avoided pissing off a wolf the size of a moose.“Has—has anyone been fed on, since the demon arrived in your territory? As I said, I am also concerned for the safety of your people.”

“No one who didn't volunteer,” the faint smile behind the glass made part of Shiro's mind wander, “don't worry, agent—he hasn't killed anyone.”

He turned all the way back around. “Demons can feed without killing?”

The look the blond shot him made him feel very stupid for asking. “Your organization is always very careful about the way it phrases what it records.” Adam stood and took both glasses to the sink.

Shiro took the hint and hurried back towards the front, mind reeling. He crammed his feet in his shoes and shuffle-hopped out to Gary as he worked the heels into place. “Would you mind taking me to the local HOPE office?” He asked the telepath meekly. “I think I need a consult.”

“Considering how protective Adam can get over people young enough to be in his classes, you're lucky you don't need a prosthetic,” Iverson unlocked the car and gestured for Shiro to get in.

“His cl--” Shiro shook his head as he got in and buckled up, feeling like a thoroughly shaken soda can. “He teaches?”

“Flight instructor at the Garrison. Trains some of the best pilots in the world.” Gary shot him a look as he paused at the stop sign leading out of the neighborhood. Whatever he saw on the HOPE agent's face, he left the man to his own thoughts for the rest of the drive.

Shiro was so out of it, in fact, that Iverson had to beep the horn lightly to rouse him from his contemplative funk after he'd parked in front of a small stucco building with a plain green awning. He gave the telepath a quiet 'thanks' and unbuckled, reaching for the door. “Agent inside says he'll give you a ride back to your hotel,” Gary told him, equally quiet, “I'll see you around.”

“Wait—um.” Shiro turned partially, still unable to meet Gary's rich hazel eyes. “You said 'young enough to be in his classes.' Do you know how old this demon is? There's no record of the birth in Cuba, and the family there wouldn't talk to me.”

“His family here probably won't talk to you, either,” Iverson's tone held some humor, “Veronica isn't exactly a fan of your organization. He's twenty-three.”

The hunter almost pitched himself through the roof of the car. “That's impossible! The file has evidence of a hunting pattern going back twenty years, and demons physically mature at the same rate as humans—standard demonic hunting methods--”

“Yeah, it's pretty fucked up,” Gary agreed, his mild tone reminding Shiro to lower his voice, “maybe HOPE should be investigating the reason Cuba is so popular with business-class perverts instead of chasing down children.”

Shiro side-eyed him. “...You're what, twenty-eight?”

“I haven't been a child since I became a telepath. Despite what the boy's been through, he's managed to maintain an alarming amount of innocence.” Gary shrugged. “Demons don't get affected by that kind of thing, maybe. Get out; I need to get back to work.”

“Right. Thanks for the...ride.” Shiro still felt like he'd been rattled all the way down to his bones. He got out of the car and glanced down at the light on his wristband; the blinking of the green had sped up slightly, but the color encouraged him to take a deep, slow breath as he opened the door to the smallish building. He turned slightly to look over his shoulder as Gary drove away, letting the air conditioning cool him down while he tried to get his bearings.

Once he felt a little more grounded, he headed into the office proper. It wasn't separated into a reception area and a back office, not even by waist-high architecture. It was like stepping into a very large cubicle, and the person in the chair had their back to the door when he came in. He felt a sudden surge of aggression; all the things he'd learned since he'd gotten here, everything that he could have been prepared for if this agent had just done their job and sent the information back to the home office, and they didn't even have the decency to turn around when he came in. “Hey!” He said sharply, stomping up to the counter-like desk. “I've got a bone to pick with you!”

“I would imagine you'd have a few,” the voice was mild, amused, and too familiar. The chair turned, and Shiro felt as though he'd suddenly been flung back to his first year of training in HOPE. Honey-brown eyes in a narrow face under a messy mop of dark blond, with a crooked smile that set his heart racing. “Hey, Taka.”

He'd forgtten to breathe. He couldn't remember how, not with his ex-boyfriend smiling cheekily at him as he got to his feet and hopped over the counter. He lifted a hand slightly, and snapped back into his own skin when the blond took his hand and raised it to his cheek. He rubbed his fingertips against the thick scar he didn't remember. “Matt. Holy shi—you're the local HOPE agent? I thought—there were rumors you'd gotten kicked out, that--”

“Yeah, the uh, evidence from our breakup was pretty damning,” Matt's smile didn't falter, even when the reminder made Shiro drop his hand and step back cautiously, “not a lot of humans can bury a lamp four inches into a wall through an apartment's front door. All my tests came back, though--human DNA, all the way through. They even took bone marrow—that wasn't fun.” He eyed the extra distance between them and laughed. “I'm not inclined to try again, Taka. I'm over your secrets, I promise. But apparently you've taken issue with some of the ones I've been keeping? Which is interesting, 'cause I don't have any.”

“The home office should have accurate information about the Dire Wolf's territory,” Shiro countered, managing to get a little air to his brain with some distance—and the memory of Matt trying to kill him with a lamp—between them, “there's a mostly-unchecked SA telepath at the local military garrison, the Dire apparently has a way to keep people safe from demons and is willing to harbor demons as a result--”

“Takashi,” Matt said, in the same mild tone he'd once greeted his boyfriend with at the door—Shiro took another half-step back instinctively, “breathe. I have sent all of this information to the home office. They know where Adam's territory is, they know about Gary, they know that Dryreef is a Sanctuary, they even know that there are fae and demons living out here. I've reported all of it. If they didn't pass it on to a field agent they knew was heading here, that's not on me.” Matt moved a little closer and settled his hands on Shiro's biceps, giving him another crooked smile. “But the phone's a secure line, if you want to use it.”

He forgot to breathe again, with Matt's smile so close and his eyes holding not a hint of the anger of the last time he'd seen him. He stepped closer and wrapped the blond in a hug, burying his face in his neck. “I've missed you,” he told the younger man quietly, “I've missed you and I'm so, so sorry.”

He was rewarded with a huff of laughter and a gentle headbutt. He'd pinned Matt's arms to his sides. “I'm still mad at you, and to quote one of your favorite classical music artists, 'we are never, ever getting back together,' but I also get why you didn't tell me. Now. Call the home office and get your shit sorted so you can move on with your case and we can go back to avoiding our now very awkward relationship history.”

Shiro laughed and let him go, nodding. “Right, right—hey, Iverson said your sister had a dance recital today. How'd she do?”

Matt gave him a grin. “She did great. Danced the lead, got to wear sparkly flowers in her hair and glitter on her cheekbones, totally stoked about all of it. This was the 'family only' performance—the troupe has shows for the rest of the weekend if you want me to hook you up with a ticket.”

“Of course! Finally get to see your perfect little sister in person and root for her on stage? I wouldn't pass that up.” Shiro hopped up to perch on the counter and picked up the phone. “Hah, he even joked that she threatened to break your legs if you didn't go. As if Katie wold ever do anything like that.”

“My sister is not who you think she is,” Matt sighed, the familiarity of the statement making them both smile a little.

“Your sister has never done anything wrong in her life,” the brunette countered as he tapped his way through the phone tree, “I refuse to listen to you malign her angelic character.” He sat up straighter as the other end of the call picked up. “Sir, it's Shirogane. No sir, I haven't lost the trail. Yes sir, by all accounts the demon is here in Dryreef.” He dragged in a long breath, visibly bracing himself. “Sir, the Dire Wolf--” He went very quiet, and very still. “I understand, sir, but--” he pursed his lips and glanced sideways at Matt, who beckoned for the phone. To Matt's surprise, he passed it over without any objection.

“Sir, Holt here.” Matt said crisply, in the middle of whatever their superior had been saying. Shiro heard the sudden silence on the line and eyed the blond with respect. “The Dire's territory has already been made known to the home office, and my standing orders are to keep peace between HOPE and the Dire. Since Shirogane is here as a field agent, that puts him, at least temporarily, under my office's purview. Which means the priority is maintaining the peace, and _then_ pursuing his case. Am I wrong?” Matt gave Shiro an echo of his crooked smile. “Fantastic, sir. Just wanted to clarify. I'll put Shirogane back on.” He handed the phone back and plopped into his chair, spinning around to work on papers piled on the back desk.

“Sir.” Shiro settled the phone against his shoulder. “The Dire instructed me to locate the demon but not to harm it while it's in his territory. From what he told me, it sounds like it's applying for Sanctuary here—yes sir, I'll try to persuade it to leave. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Understood.” He hung up the phone and huffed out a breath. “What the hell are you even, Matthew.”

“Not quite a god,” the blond joked in a mild tone. He shot a crooked grin over his shoulder, “leave your cell on in case you run into trouble.” The sound of tearing paper accompanied him turning around, and he offered Shiro a piece of stationary. “You'll find him there.”

Surprised, Shiro looked down at the paper before taking it. “...You knew the whole time where--”

“Man, Adam would have told you if you hadn't pissed him off.” Matt gave him another grin. “He texted me while you were on the way over. 'Give jawline this address.'”

“'Jawline'?” Shiro felt his eyebrows shoot towards his hair. “He did not give off any kind of vibe that indicated he thought I was attractive.”

“Adam's a professional. Also, way better at hiding it, unlike our disaster asses.” Matt laughed again at Shiro's offended look. “Please. Don't try to tell me you didn't trip over your own tongue when you got a good look at Adam, or that you didn't spend all of lunch staring mindlessly at Gary's mouth. Where'd you go for lunch, Insada's? How many times did you bite yourself watching Allura while trying to eat?”

“Stop saying my shit out loud like that,” Shiro held up his hands in defeat, “and it was less that she made me bite myself and more like I wanted to grovel at her feet and be used as a footstool. I'm not even into that. Or I didn't think I was.”

“Well, she's fae royalty, so. She has that effect on people.” The blond even managed not too look too smug.

“She—what? Damn, this town doesn't do anything halfway, does it? Werewolves the size of bull moose, fae royalty, SA telepaths, demons. Any warnings for what else I might run into?”

“Mind the demon's best friend,” Matt warned him, expression sliding from 'smiling' to 'pensive' in a heartbeat, “he's very protective.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Shiro lifted the note with a tight smile. “Thanks, Matt.” He turned to head for the door.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“You gonna call a Lyft or you need me to give you a ride?”

“Oh. Right. Uh, do you mind--” Shiro gave him a lame smile as Matt came around him and jangled his keys. “My hero.”

“Take a nap before you go hunting. You're always drifty after you eat.”

“It's a metabolism thing,” Shiro tapped the blinking band on his wrist pointedly.

“I remember.”

He barely registered telling Matt where he was staying, had little memory of the ride back or getting into his hotel room, but he registered the pillow when his cheek touched it just long enough to register the quiet beeping of his wristband.

His head wasn't on a pillow when he woke up. He felt like he was suddenly twenty-two again, with Matt's scent in his nose and his muscled thigh under his cheek. The calloused fingers in his hair pressed deftly on the places on his scalp that helped him focus, and tugged at the hair in places that made him stay calm. He turned his head, pressing his nose at the inseam of Matt's slacks and listening to the blond drag in a sharp breath. “S'zure?” He slurred, with a vague memory that those had been further between since his last change in medication.

“No,” Matt reassured, “but you blacked out for a little longer than a minute. You didn't seize, you didn't gag, and you didn't talk. Just went down. You're okay. You're back to green, I've got water right here for you when you can sit up. Take your time.”

Shiro grumbled, squinting his eyes closed a little harder and rubbing his nose against the seam again. He heard Matt let out the breath he'd taken just as sharply as he'd pulled it in, and couldn't stop the lazy smile from crossing his face. He was just relaxed enough to start planning--

“Takashi, we broke up six years ago and I almost brained you with a lamp,” Matt said sharply, tipping his hips away.

“Oh, right,” the recovering man mumbled blearily, rolling back a little and opening his eyes just a tiny bit to stare up at him, “I forgot.” He blinked a few times, then smiled. “I'm okay.” He waited for Matt to move his hands, then carefully sat up.

“Any dizziness? Nausea? How many fingers did Haven blow off our third year?” Matt handed him a glass of water.

“No, no, and none, he shot himself in the foot and lost three toes on his right foot.” Shiro took the water and sipped at it carefully. “I'm okay, Matt. Promise. I'll keep my cell on when I leave on my hunt. And I'll take a decent nap, not just a sixty-second power blackout.”

“Blackouts don't count as power naps, Taka, stop trying to make that a thing.” Matt got up, straightening out his slacks, and made a face when Shiro's eyes dropped. “Pervert. Don't stare at my dick.” He turned to go.

“Gonna watch you go, though,” the brunette didn't lift his gaze, smirking against the water glass as Matt with an exhasperated mutter. He waited until he heard Matt's jeep pull out of the parking lot, then typed the address on the note into his phone. It was forty-five minutes away; Shiro double-checked the time. He could nap for an hour and a half and still arrive before dark, he decided, and set an alarm. He finished the water quickly and set the little cup on the nightstand, then laid down and let the again-steady blinking green light lull him to sleep.

 

His bladder woke him up, and it was already dark behind the curtains. He checked his phone after he'd washed his hands; he'd turned the alarm off in his sleep. He sighed, pulling on his shoes—Matt must have removed them when he'd passed out earlier—and picking up his keys. He gave the hotel room door an extra tug behind him as he left to make certain it latched, and settled onto the seat of the hoverbike parked in the slot in front of his door. He pulled on his helmet with one hand and settled his phone into the cradle across the handlebars with the other, the bike's software linking up immediately with the GPS. He declined the auto-drive option and enjoyed the drive, letting the desert at night settle his mind into survival mode.

The old manor house the demon had chosen was little more than a cleaned up shell; it had obviously suffered during some war or another. Most of the front was gone, aside from the long roofed walkway bisecting the sweeping circular drive. The side wings were only half intact, but the bared brick flooring and broken walls were covered in lighted candles. The driveway was lined with them on both sides, and they decorated small alcoves in the pillars supporting the walkway roof all the way up to the front steps, which sported even more candles.

Shiro stared around in wonder as he took off his helmet. The place was so lit up he wouldn't be surprised if they could have seen it from the moon; this many candles had to have been expensive. He settled his bike on the mostly-broken driveway and dismounted, squinting in an effort to find the demon he'd come for.

Something moved on the walkway roof. He took half a step back and reached for his weapon. The creature crouched at the peak of the roof and stared down at him, the moon and the candles flicking warring shadows across its face. He saw the coil of a tail flick across the starry sky, heard it hiss against the metal roof, and tried not to tighten his grip on his weapon. Surely the Dire wouldn't hold it against him if he had to harm the demon to protect himself, he reasoned.

“Begone!” The demon yelled down at him, raising its head. The moonlight slid down huge, sweeping horns. “You trespass where you are not welcome!”

“Yeah, that's...that's the definition of trespassing,” he told it mildly, trying not to be charmed by the way it tried to make its voice sound booming and menacing, “going where you're not wanted. You're Lancelot, right? Lancelot Atrillo?”

He tried not to tense at the sound of the tail skidding over the metal roof again as the demon half-lunged forward. “No one calls me _Lancelot_ ,” it hissed, baring teeth that looked impressively heavy and sharp in the flickering candlelight, “it's _Lance._ ” It leaned back again, raising a hand. “Now, begone! Away! Or I will unleash my wrath upon thy mortal head!” Something sparked between its clawed fingers, icy blue and just enough to make Shiro dive under the walkway on instinct.

 

 


	3. Demon History Lessons Don't Include Flirting Tips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has a long, educational conversation with the shadowy demonic Lance.

He pressed his back as close as he dared to the candle-covered pillar and listened in disbelief at the demon above his head let out a tiny, delighted squeal. “Hey, it worked! It sparked! I called magic, did you see—hey, where'd you go?” He heard scrabbling on the metal, and looked up to see the big horns appear over the edge of the roof. “Are you hiding? Did I scare you?”

It sounded...sad and proud, all at once. He stepped forward to look up. He still couldn't make out any features. “You...startled me,” he said slowly, “I didn't know demons really...did magic. I don't actually know for sure what's fact or myth, at this point.”

“Did you come to kill me?” The horns—and the head to which they were attached—pulled back slightly at his emergence.

“It's why I came to town, yes,” he admitted readily, frowning a little when the silhouette pulled even further back, “but don't worry—I promised the Dire that I would just talk to you. Would you come down so we can do that face to face?”

“Why would I come down!” The demon yelped, tail ringing a hollow bell-tone on the roof. “You just admitted you came here to kill me!”

“But then I said I'd like to just talk,” Shiro assured.

“We are talking,” it sounded like it was sulking.

“Okay, we can talk like this. I just figured those horns have got to put a lot of extra strain on your neck at this angle.” He tried to put a little casual reassurance into his tone.

“They're _manifestations_ ,” Lance's tone indicated an eye roll, “it's not like they _weigh anything_.” There was a pause, then it added, “well, not much, anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

“I. I wanted to ask about what happened in that hotel room in Cuba.” It was as good a place to start as any, Shiro supposed. “What happened to those two people? Why did you run?”

Lance scoffed. “I'm a _demon_ and I was naked in a room with _two dead humans._ You'd have bolted, too.” It was quiet a moment, then shuffled around in what Shiro assumed was an effort to get more comfortable. “He was a lover,” the creature said quietly, “came three or four times a year on legitimate business and always gave me a text to let me know he was in town. Not the best in bed, a little controlling, but generous with his presents and always willing to let me just chill the whole week in his suite. Loved to be the little spoon, was into choking me but not like, a lot, you know? Just sexy control stuff.”

Shiro thought about the file sitting back in his hotel room. “For how long?”

“Oh, almost a decade, I guess? I used to pick up work as a towel boy at the resort, made most of my money on my knees.” It didn't seem at all disturbed by the idea despite the age it must have been at the time. “It was a good way to stay fed.”

“Right. Demons feed on living energy. The way I was taught, that always translated to...death. The Dire led me to believe that's not the case?”

“Oh, gosh, no!” He heard Lance straighten up a little indignantly. “I've never eaten anyone to death! What kind of monster do you think I am?!” He heard the tail thrash above him. “No demon has killed a human from feeding in like, five hundred years! We had a whole revolution about it.”

“I'm afraid my organization doesn't teach a lot of accurate demonic history, then. Would you mind filling me in?” Shiro started to edge out from under the walkway, trying to get a better look at the creature.

“So like, _forever_ ago, the Demon Emperor and his Empress really super hated humans, right, because of some old war with the other Divines and humans were the chosen neutral species and most of them followed the Gods and Angels because their PR was better. So demons were told that when we fed on humans, we had to drain them dry or they'd kill us or have the Angels hunt us down. And it was like that for a while, doing out of fear, but then one day, the inevitable happened, and a demon fell in love with a human.” Lance's head raised slightly as Shiro came out, probably trying to get a better look at him.

“I didn't realize that's considered inevitable,” the hunter noted mildly.

“I mean, love is always going to take root in the harshest ground,” the lilting tenor indicated that he should have known such a universal truth, “anyway, she discovered that she could get a whole belly full of living energy from her lover without hurting him if they had sex, because humans just toss that shit about willy-nilly when they get off.” It giggled at little at its own phrasing.

Shiro felt like he was tripping over information for the fifth time since his arrival in Dryreef. “Wait. What?”

“It's like...uhm. Well. It's like metaphysical jizz. You orgasm, it goes _everywhere_. We just...we learned to eat that, instead. She led a whole revolution, we locked up the Demon Emperor and the Empress, and now we just feed on that. If we get peckish during the day we eat the little happy snippets that humans toss out when they're excited.”

“Happy snippets?”

“They're just snacks, they can't sustain us indefinitely,” the demon informed him, head tilting to the side, “they're like...cheetos. Imagine people toss cheetos into the air when they're happy, but instead of falling prey to gravity, they float for a couple of minutes before they kind of disintegrate. We can eat the cheetos before they vanish.”

“And orgasms make people throw out...four-course meals?”

“Now you're getting it!” He heard the tail thrash again, and realized Lance was _wagging it._ The insight was like a bullet to the heart. No one had ever thought to warn him that demons could be _cute._

“So, the people in the hotel room?”

“Oh.” Another bullet to the heart, the way that bright voice deflated. “Well. I told him I was moving, to go to college. Military academy, you know? I was really stoked! He acted all happy for me, said he was going to make our last time together something really special, you know, because I'd given him happiness for so long. It wasn't like I thought he loved me or anything, and he wasn't my only lover, but. Things were going fine, we were doing fun stuff—he even went parasailing with me, finally, and he was afraid of heights but he had so much fun!”

“Cheetos for days?” Shiro asked, unable to stop the little smile he gave the shadowy figure.

A brief rasp of a wagged tailtip. “Yeah! And then we went back to his suite to have sex for the whole rest of the day, but when we got to the choking part he wouldn't let go.” He saw the horns tilt in the shifting light and realized that Lance's head was drooping. “He just kept gripping tighter and tighter, and I knew—you know, I'm strong, I'm a demon, I could have broken his grip but I didn't want to hurt him and I thought.” The sound of a small, wet breath interrupted the flow of words. Lance was crying. The words came out sounding small. “I thought he was just really into it. Into me.”

The hunter looked down, staring at his shaking hands in disbelief. “The gun?”

Lance sniffled, and Shiro saw one arm come up to wipe its face. “His wife brought it with her,” it said morosely, “she came in screaming about how he was a cheating bastard and she'd come to end him and his whore, waving the gun around. He was startled and he let go of me, and she pointed the gun at me and I grabbed it and it went off and--”

“Hey,” Shiro called up softly, “breathe. It's over now.”

He heard the demon take a few shaky breaths. “It killed him when it went off. I don't...I don't even remember shooting her. I just...when he died, I...I had just been feeding on his energy, you know, so I was attuned to it? So when it went out it was...cold. Like being thrown in a snowbank.”

“You grew up in Cuba and you currently live in Arizona, when have you seen snow?” Some part of Shiro wanted desperately to lighten the mood.

“We had an ice skating rink that did a charity snowball fight once a year and they made snow for it,” Lance's tone lightened a little, “my brothers always used to throw me and Radish in head first.”

“Radish?”

“My twin.”

“I thought her name was Rachel.”

“When we were little and I was just learning to write, no one told me that her name was anglicized. I thought it was 'Raquel.' But 'd' and 'b' and 'p' and 'q' are hard to differentiate when you're first learning to write, and I also thought 'Raquel' was spelled with an 'i.' So I wrote it as 'R-a-d-i-e-l,' but my 'e' was weird and my 'l' came out loopy so it looked like an 'h.'”

“So Radish.”

“Yeah.”

Shiro let the silence carry on a beat, listening to traffic on the road pass by. “How do demon children feed? Are you...all expert pedophile hunters?”

“Oh, gosh, no, most demon children eat garbage. Technically we can process almost anything into fuel, but once we hit maturity we require living energy to survive. Most demon hives have deals with their locals to keep their landfills from filling up, the kids swarm all through the garbage and chew up everything.”

Shiro forced his jaw to unclench, “I can't...just...the idea of--”

“I'm okay, you know? Like. I'm a demon and I think that's maybe why it didn't screw me up completely. And I ate—I mean, you said you came to kill me, so you must have an idea of how much I ate.”

It was like a bell went off in Shiro's brain. “Your horns, the tail—you can't send them away, can you? Your power's grown too much, too quickly.”

“Adam says it might be a side effect of me starting on living energy so early,” Lance admitted, head tilting to one side, “he got really mad and asked me to make him a list when he heard how I grew up.”

Shiro nodded. “He did seem like a decent guy, when I talked to him. I take it you haven't started classes yet, given your current state?”

“The Garrison's really understanding about a lot of Extrahuman stuff, but this is a little bit much,” the demon managed to summon up a little humor, “this happened a couple of days after I arrived. I just found someone without a roommate and I was gonna crash with him, and then the next morning he wakes me up yelping 'cause I freaked him out. He got cool about it really quickly, though. He takes care of me.”

“Does he...feed you?” Knowing now how the demon fed, Shiro felt a little awkward asking that question.

“Oh, yeah, all the time!” Lance chirped, and the tail swished happily again. “He started to be all, 'well I don't want you to starve,' duty-oriented about it but like, not even demons really want to get sexed out of _obligation_. He's straight, you know, so like he was kinda weirded out at first but then I switched and _that_ kind of weirded him out so I was like, I could just blow you and he was okay with that and now I don't even have to switch to eat because I'm like, _really_ good with my mouth.” The tips of the demon's claws appeared around the edge of the roof, shimmering and bluish in the candlelight.

Shiro wasn't sure what to do with that information, so he took a moment to sort through it. “So you didn't stay...feminine?”

“Nah, I tend to switch back and forth, actually. Most mature demons do. We can't make our own life-stuff, so we gather it from humans and—uh. You...you don't really want to know how demons make babies, do you?” Shiro thought for a moment he caught a glimpse of a shadowed eye when Lance leaned over a little further.

“I don't, uh. No, I don't need to know that. Your friend, the one who takes care of you, he's okay? You feeding off of him, it doesn't. I mean, you don't take anything he isn't throwing out--” The hard, rattling hiss above his head made him duck back further under the roof.

“ _I would never take what isn't given._ ” The continuous thrashing of the tail on the metal was definitely angry, and Shiro's brain offered up several graphic images of what the heavy claws he'd seen could do to him. “I told you all of that, opened up to you, and you still think I'm some kind of—some kind of _monster._ You go away! I don't want to talk to you anymore!”

“Lance, I'm sorry, I didn't--”

“ _Go away._ ” He heard the scrape and slide of the demon starting to move off.

“Lance, _wait_.” His mission, the opportunity to discover what HOPE wasn't telling him, was slipping through his fingers. “I'm sorry, I'm just worried. I don't...I don't know anything about your people, and I've been told that you're killers for...my whole life. It's a little hard to wrap my head around. I'm sorry.” The retreating sounds stopped, and Shiro thought he might have heard a scoot back his direction. “Will you...will you please tell me about your magic? You were excited.”

Another scoot. Lance's voice was ten feet further away from where it had been before. “Demons don't really do a lot of external magic—not the ones who live on this plane, anyway. We're all...you know, basically fledglings. Having the ability to call magic, it's—it's not something anyone's been able to do with any consistency since the revolution. Not that I've heard of, anyway. Admittedly I don't...I don't meet a lot of my people, either.”

“Then how do you know so much about your peoples' history?” He moved towards the edge again, squinting up at the roof to try to locate the demon. “You've—mm. Been fairly educational for me, so far.”

The stifled laugh made him relax a little. “Hive heads pretty frequently have jobs that encourage them to travel, be social. Loners like me are pretty rare—most demons on this plane stay with their hives their whole lives. Every little imp in the swarm gives the hive head a little bit more; boosts their speed, agility, strength, intelligence, general power base. I've had a couple of tutors, hive heads on business retreats at the resorts near where I grew up, and they've taught me things. We're very social, you know, and hardly ever get into territorial disputes since we stopped killing to feed.” The silhouette of the demon's head suddenly appeared right above him, and Shiro suppressed a startled flinch. “But I can call magic without needing a hive to back me. That's really neat, right? Hunk's going to be _so stoked_.”

“That's...your friend? The one who takes care of you?”

“Yeah. He's great. He's sweet and kind and fierce and he smells like coconut and sweet almond, like, all the time.” There was a scrabbling noise, and the tips of Lance's horns gleamed in the candlelight over the roof. One clawed hand stretched out and down, palm to the sky, and Shiro realized Lance had rolled over. “And he has, like, a _totally amazing_ body, but he's really self-conscious about it here because a lot of this country's culture is still toxic to people with body fat? It's dumb. Soft is the best for cuddling, _and_ he's strong enough to sweep me up and put me places, which gets exponentially hotter every time he does it if you ask me.” He moved down a little further, and Shiro caught sight of a tuft of brown hair. “I'm not...usually nine feet tall, you know?”

He couldn't stop the reflexive swallow that came with that mental image, and thought back to the sight of Lance's outline on the edge of the roof. He hoped their positioning wouldn't awkwardly carry the sudden and totally unprofessional rush of hormones upward. “No?” His was proud of his voice for remaining casual. “How tall are you usually? And is that with or without horns?”

“Uh...five-ten, and both measurements are without. Including your horns in your height is for people who have to compensate for not being as pretty as I am.” Another scramble, the hair and horns shifted, and Shiro knew Lance had rolled over again to squint down at him. “You know you're surrounded by candles and heat rises, right? But like, I'm not going to judge you for getting horny about stupid stuff. I get horny about nothing like, all the time.”

“Well, you're twenty-three,” Shiro shot him a self-deprecating smile, “it's supposed to calm down a little by the time you're my age.”

“Yeah? How old are you? Are you like, ancient? Because talking like that makes you sound like you're ancient.”

“I feel ancient all the time. I'm only thirty-one, though. Also, apparently you feed through sex, so I'm assuming that's probably skewed your entire race's reactions to things.” The hunter rolled his shoulders, glancing down and then back up. “It's uh. It's not polite to call people out on that, though.”

“Oh, I know, I just wanted to see if you'd blush.” Lance's tail lifted high enough for Shiro to make out the vague outline of it waggling happily again. “You're really hot when you blush. I mean, you're really hot anyway, but you're self-aware enough to know that, right?”

To his further mortification, he could feel the back of his neck getting hotter, and his cheeks were already too warm. “I have a soft spot for tall men,” he admitted calmly, “particularly ones who could fuck me up without a second thought.”

Lance's surprised, delighted laugh pooled more heat down his spine, and Shiro wondered if there was some kind of radius where it wasn't actually safe to be that close to a demon without falling under their spell. “You must have been _so distracted_ at Adam's place!” The heavy claws reappeared as Lance inched closer in conspiratorial excitement. “Dires are like, heavy-heavy Earthbound, you know? So like, _massive_ amounts of living energy, but also this town is a damned Tupperware cabinet and he's one of the only tops, so he just _radiates_ this aura that makes every man attracted to men have to fight the urge to whisper 'wreck me' every time he's nearby.” The demon let out a sigh, rolling over once more and stretching both arms out this time. “He's got ages and ages of self-control, though, so despite my best begging I have not managed to become kibble.”

Shiro couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up at Lance's antics. “I think it's probably intensely racist to refer to a werewolf's bedmates as 'kibble.'”

“Yeah he'd totally smack me for it,” Lance's tone of absolute smug delight didn't change in the least.

“I was also a little distracted dealing with Commander Iverson,” the HOPE agent admitted, tucking his hands into his pockets and wondering at the desert night's chill, “he's, mm. He definitely gives off a 'could fuck you up' vibe.”

“He also hates being touched and people in general,” the demon's tone turned a little morose, “but yeah, I could totally stare at his mouth for days. And his _butt_ , did you _see that ass_? You could bounce a bowling ball off that thing and he wouldn't even notice.” The claws flexed, rolling closed in a grasping motion that Shiro could sympathize with. “But he's not into it, so.”

“I take it demons don't see that as a challenge?”

“I mean, there are assholes in every subgroup, demons aren't perfect.” Lance flopped back over with a sigh. “Man, I am _hungry_.”

Shiro couldn't help it. He took a step back.

“Dude.” The demon sounded both hurt and amused.

“Sorry. Reflex. Still learning, remember? Plus I smell like horny and I guess I assumed that wasn't helping your hunger.”

“I mean, it isn't, you smell _delicious_ and I really hella want to do dirty things with you, but you also made it pretty clear that you're still totally uncertain about whether or not I'm safe, and I'm going to respect that. Anyway mostly I meant I could eat like, eighty cheeseburgers and all the fries.” One hand lifted towards the stars, stretching open as if to reach up and grab them. “We don't _just_ eat living energy. We have manifestations of physical forms to maintain.”

“And you have more than most,” was the thoughtful murmur. When Lance rolled again to peer down at him, Shiro shook himself. “Haven't heard about a lot of nine-foot-tall horned people running amok, is all.”

He saw a flash of heavy fangs, and the curve of Lance's ass lifting as the demon knelt on the edge of the roof. “You got distracted thinking about us doing dirty things, didn't you?” The smug tone was back in force.

He sighed. “Yes, I did. I do have a little bit of a type and you slot into it.”

“I never really got that.”

“Hm?”

“The whole 'type' thing. Is it because I'm a demon and we're not really wired to be picky, or what? I like all sorts—short, tall, muscular, scrawny, wiry, nice, mean, tough, marshmallowy. Human and Extrahuman. I mean, Earthbound really have the most living energy so if it's just hunger they're like, the best ones to seduce but they come in all types, and Hunk's human and he keeps me fed just fine.”

“I think it just depends on the individual,” Shiro glanced at the nearby pillar, realized there was no way to lean against it without lighting himself on fire, and settled for shifting his weight to mostly one foot, “I don't think it's a racial thing. You ready to come down and talk a little closer to face-to-face? I'm kind of getting a crick in my neck staring up at you like this.”

“Oh! Yeah, lemme--”

Shiro froze at the feeling of something cold and heavy settling against the back of his neck. He'd been held at gunpoint enough times to recognize it. He raised his hands slowly into view of the person behind him. “How about he stays safely out of your reach, you leave right now, and I don't turn your head into a fine pink mist,” the voice was low and husky, and conveyed an impressive amount of disgust and loathing. “Lance? You okay, buddy? Stay up there, okay?”

“I'm okay, Hunk,” the demon settled back down, tail wagging wildly against the backdrop of the stars.

“Good.” The heavy weapon pushed against Shiro's neck, and he rocked with the force. “Then you can live. Get out of here, hunter. Before I change my mind.”

Hands still up, he stepped forward and carefully turned around. The young man behind him held a massive weapon in both hands, grip and gaze steady as he shifted the barrel from Shiro's neck to aim at his chest. “Is. Is that a fucking rail gun? You know those are. Supposed to be mounted artillery, right?” He assessed the dark skin, the easy shift of muscle underneath, the protective way the man stepped forward to put himself and his giant gun between Shiro and Lance.

He tipped his head down at himself, eyes not moving from their steady, hateful lock on the HOPE agent. “Mount.” The gun shifted in his grip again, a light bounce that should have torn it from his hands. “Artillery. _Walk_.”

Stepping back again, Shiro nodded. He couldn't stop the rush of morbid fascination inside of him from asking what, exactly, could happen if he offered to fight a man who could sling around a thirty pound gun—with the kind of kickback implied—with ease and confidence. “Maybe we can talk some other time, Lance? When you've convinced your friend that I'm not a threat.”

“I mean, you did come into town to kill me,” Lance's bright voice was amused, “you still haven't promised that that's off the table. And I didn't even get your name.”

“Call me Shiro.” He backed away when Hunk hefted the gun again. “Leaving.” He walked backward to his hoverbike, pulled his helmet on, and only lost sight of the two when he turned onto the road to head back to town.

 


	4. Exes Are Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Shiro discuss their past. Lance nags Adam into arranging a second meeting with Shiro.

The knock on his hotel room door came earlier than he expected. Matt greeted him with a distracted 'hey' and walked right past with his hands full of take-out boxes. He settled them on the desk and began unpacking utensils wrapped in napkins from his pockets. “You must have said or done something right last night, because Adam received no less than eight voice messages from Lance demanding to see and speak to you again in a safe, private place.” He plunked down a bottle of soda and spun, sidling backwards when he came nose-to-collarbone with Shiro. He dragged in a breath and the taller man saw him instantly regret inhaling his scent. The hard swallow the blond barely managed was not at all silent or subtle.

Shiro settled his hands on Matt's shoulders and stepped back. “I don't remember saying or doing anything particularly notable. Certainly nothing to bother the Dire about with a bunch of messages in the wee hours of the morning.” He accepted a set of utensils and selected a container out of which to eat. “Is he mad at me?”

“Mad—hell, no! Lance hasn't been this hyped to meet a new person since he met Hunk. Adam's _thrilled._ Lance hasn't exactly had a lot of opportunities to be social since his horns showed up. Hunk visits him all the time to bring him food and uh.” Matt gave him a little grin as he picked up a container of his own. “And feed him, which I would imagine got a little more dicey when his teeth turned into fangs and he grew claws.” He made himself comfortable on the undisturbed twin bed, shoes clattering to the floor as he crossed his legs.

Shiro tried to suppress the mental image of the lanky demon on its knees, those fangs flashing up from around his belt, blue-black claws digging into denim and leather alike; he heard Lance's voice, the smug pride, 'I'm like, _really_ good with my mouth.' He didn't even realize he'd closed his eyes—that his attempt at 'dismissal' had turned decidedly 'savoring'—until he heard Matt snicker. He shot the blond a quelling glance and settled onto the rumpled bed with his food. “When did you order this?” He asked, mouth full of room temperature noodles. “It's like, two a.m.”

“Last night. I know you have a weakness for overnight take out for breakfast.” Matt's attention was firmly on scooping up rice without spilling it all over the bedspread. He didn't see the tiny, fond smile Shiro sent his way, or the way the other man slouched a little more comfortably over his noodles.

“So you were already planning on bringing me breakfast even before the Dire got tired of Lance blowing up his phone?” Shiro felt his smile grow at the pink flush he saw creeping up the back of Matt's neck. “I've already said I missed you, you know. It's not illegal to say it back.”

Matt scowled down at his rice. “It's not—it--” He blew a breath out through his nose. “Gah—fuck you, okay? Just. Fuck you. You don't get to keep the kinds of secrets you did from someone you're dating for three and a half years, _not look for them when they disappear_ , and show up six years after the breakup with that smile and a 'you can say you missed me too' line!”

Shiro leaned back a little. “You said you weren't mad at me any more.” His voice was quiet.

“For the secrets, yeah, sure. But I disappeared, Taka, and you never came looking for me. _Six years,_ and you were surprised to see me here. Surprised that I'd earned my badge. I didn't go into witness protection, Takashi—I got transfered because I almost killed another cadet. But you didn't even _look._ ” He snapped his teeth closed, huffing out another breath. “And that...that I don't think I can stop being mad about.”

The way he shrank in on himself, the way his voice dropped beneath a whisper, Shiro felt like his heart was being crushed in his chest. Each tiny word dropped through him like a stone. It took him a long moment to regain enough emotional equilibrium to respond. He set his food aside and crossed to the other bed, gently taking the rice from the blond's hands and setting it on the side table. “Matt,” he said gently, “for a hyper-genius you're a fucking idiot, you know that? You found out a series of nasty secrets that no one in their right mind trying to get into HOPE would want anyone to know, and you _nearly brained me with a lamp_ during a breakup fight I never saw coming. Why would I have tried to contact you in the last six years? I thought you hated me. You _told me_ you hated me. You aren't allowed to be angry that I took you at your word.” He tapped a finger to the nearly-invisible scar by his temple, ducking his head to meet the honey-brown eyes with a small smile. “Or your lamp. And you didn't exactly reach out to me, either.”

The blond sighed again, turning his face away. “So I screwed things up between us at least as much as you did,” he admitted grudgingly.

“No,” the Japanese man corrected gently, leaning comforingly against Matt's side and patting his knee, “I kept those secrets from everyone, including you, to protect the career I crossed an ocean for. You tried to kill me. These are not equal screw-ups, Matt. Maybe it's better that we take the time to figure that out before we start dating again.”

Matt flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, then retrieved his rice and began dedicatedly loading up his fork again. “You...mean you haven't dated since we broke up?”

The sudden realization that he'd talked himself into a corner hit Shiro like a punch in the throat. He swallowed and straightened up, reaching across to pick up his food again. “I've been busily pursuing a demanding career,” he muttered, before shoving half the box's worth of lo mein into his mouth as an excuse to stop talking altogether.

“Oh, Taka, if we're discussing things we should probably take up with therapists, I think that should be in your top five.” Matt leaned back against him, laughing. “I'm doing...I'm better, with my current boyfriend, I promise. Not as selfish, not as tightly wound. Probably helps that I'm not competing with him in the same field.”

“Not as violent?” The words were barely comprehensible behind a mouth full of half-chewed noodles and vegetables.

The blond looked down, pursing his lips. “I will admit that I have a temper, and that the explosion of such was an alarming and unfortunate way to also discover that I have Extrahuman strength,” he said slowly, “but also, yes. I have never been so frustrated with or felt so betrayed by Keith that I wanted to throw things through his head. I think it helps that we're both actively trying to keep things casual.”

Shiro swallowed hard, then reached across for his soda and took a long drink. “Keith? Not your foster brother, Keith?”

“He's not—fuck, listen, he was there for four months before I left for training, he's not my foster brother, he's Katie's. I barely even spoke with him outside of knowing he joined my sister on her weirdass cryptid hunts so I didn't have to. When he moved in with us I found out he was a crybaby and I'm a sucker for hugging sad kids. That's it. Just because my parents took him in and my sister calls him her brother does not make him my brother.”

“He was awfully convincing with that crush of his, wasn't he.” Shiro gave Matt a sidelong smile.

“Oh my god he grew like two feet taller and started working out and I am weak as hell.” The desk agent dragged a hand over his face, grimacing. “He can actually physically pick me up and toss me places now.”

“I remember you having a fondness for that,” Shiro bumped their shoulders together gently and felt his smile soften.

Matt's crooked grin made Shiro wonder if maybe he hadn't eaten too fast. “Now if only I could get him to switch.”

“What, you miss topping every third Tuesday?”

“I miss being able to drool into a pillow and let my brain stop working,” the blond made a face, taking a couple more bites of rice, “at this point I'm pretty sure someone could threaten his life if he didn't top and he'd just shrug.”

He choked on his soda and sat up so he didn't spit it all over himself. “Wait wait wait, what? Matt 'I only top once in a blue moon' Holt is actually dating a genuine bottom?” He got to his feet to rifle through the pile of take out for more napkins.

“I mean, about half the time he power-bottoms, and that's _great_ because I can relax a little and let him do the work and you know, ride me into the sunrise or whatever. But I do miss getting thoroughly dicked down, yeah.” Matt shrugged and pulled extra napkins out of his pockets, tossing them to the end of the bed for Shiro to mop at his now-sticky shirt. “I'd just hit a gay bar in town or something but this town is--”

“A Tupperware cabinet,” Shiro nodded, frowning at his shirt before peeling it off and tossing it in the hotel sink, “Lance told me. No tops.”

“I mean, we have a couple, maybe, but the best one is monogamous and married.” Honey-brown eyes slid over the now-bare expanse of Shiro's back as he ran water over the shirt, then focused abruptly on Matt's fried rice again. “Damn Curtis, anyway.”

“Who's Curtis?”

“Adam's husband. Gorgeous. Caribbean-Latin descent, dark blue eyes, soft brown hair, sweet as the day is long. Definitely works out, definitely a switch, definitely invited to wreck me any day of the week and _twice_ every third Tuesday. Doesn't remember a day before he showed up in town about seven years ago and Adam found him bleeding in a ditch.” Matt sneaked brief glances across the hotel room but almost put the box of rice over his face when Shiro turned around.

Shiro took a second to admire the darkening pink on what he could see of Matt's cheeks. “You know I'm not going to freak out if you look, right? It's not like I don't know that you know what I look like naked—or that you appreciate it.” He sat back down on the bed beside the blond, grinning as those honey-brown eyes raised to slide up his torso. He watched Matt's face draw into an expression of conflicted want as their eyes met almost gingerly. “I definitely missed you looking at me like that,” he said quietly, reaching up to touch the backs of his knuckles to Matt's warm, scarred cheek.

The blond opened his mouth to speak, eyes wide, but no sound came out. His jaw moved, lower lip shaping sounds he couldn't vocalize. He turned his head and pressed his parted lips to Shiro's fingers, keeping their eyes locked. His tongue darted out, grazing damp skin.

Shiro leaned in closer, pressing his fingers eagerly into Matt's mouth and sliding his other hand up the smaller man's thigh.

Matt's phone let out a sharp, insistent chirp. The screen lit up with a picture of a sweeping white gravel driveway and the name 'Gary' in dark green. Matt pulled back to snatch it up, curving his shoulders away from Shiro. “Yeah?” It was almost hurtful how easily he cleared the lust from his voice. “What—no, I. Shut up, asshole. Yeah, all right. What, he doesn't want to get more sleep? Because it's two-thirty in the morning, dude. How many more times? He knows Adam's got a husband who also needs to sleep, right? Curtis must be pissed.”

The bigger man leaned to the side, trying to catch Matt's eye, only to have the blond turn his shoulders square away from him again. “Yeah all right. I'll—yeah. Tell him we'll be there by five. Gotta finish breakfast. Oh, fuck off.” He hung up the phone, scooting away from Shiro a little and clearing his throat. “Gary says Adam wants you there to prepare you for a talk with Lance, so uh. So finish eating and I'll drive you there. I'm gonna. Gonna finish my fried rice outside.” He all but scrambled off the bed with his food and hurried out the door.

Shiro glowered at the spot on the bed where Matt's phone had been sitting when it rang. “If you could hear me, Iverson, you wouldn't want to,” he growled, before picking up his lo mein and shoveling it into his face, “and I'm gonna shower before I go anywhere.” He stared at the door intently, then huffed and practically threw himself to his feet. “And it's gonna be a _cold_ shower. Bastard.” He tossed the empty container in the trash can and laid the fork next to the sink, unbuttoning his pants and kicking the bathroom door closed behind him. He stood with his forehead against the mirror as he stripped down, watching his breath create a patch of fog on the glass. He got under the cold spray with a hissed curse, pressing his palms against the wall.

He let his mind wander where it would, painting the image of Matt on the hotel bedspread with his knees over Shiro's shoulders, remembering the sounds he made when Shiro moved just so—he groaned, smacking his hand against the wall again, and reached behind him with the other hand to turn up the temperature of the water. If he was going to follow these thoughts, he figured he might as well be comfortable doing so.

As the water warmed, he pressed his back to the tile and closed his eyes, wrapping a hand around his shaft and letting his mouth fall open. He remembered every detail of the three years he and Matt had been together—every sensitive spot, every childhood scar, the way his breath hitched and shuddered with each caress. It made his head swim; he could almost taste Matt on the back of his tongue, feel his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist. He shivered, thinking of how the blond's hair would stick to his lips, how Matt almost always scraped one of their lips to bleeding trying to kiss him in between thrusts and the way he would claw at Shiro's back when he was close.

He hissed Matt's name while he came, managing to open his eyes in time to see the last cloudy fluid trail down the drain. Feeling a little more relaxed, he reached for the shampoo.

He took his time cleaning up, enjoying the hot water, then dried himself briskly and walked naked into the main room for clean clothes. He couldn't help the smile that crossed his face when he saw Matt spin away with a choked noise. “I thought you were waiting outside?”

“I had to throw away the box,” the blond rasped, head down, “I couldn't remember where the trash can was outside and it's blacker than a new moon out there.”

“Lot lights are out?”

“Lot lights get shut off at two all over town,” Matt started to turn his head, and Shiro saw that his eyes were shut tight, “Shadow-walkers get a few hours to get their shopping done and get some air outside the compound.”

Shiro paused in pulling on his boxer-briefs, then shimmied them the rest of the way on and reached for clean pants. “There's a Shadow-walkers' compound in Dryreef?”

“Yeah, part of why I wanted to get here before you left on your Fog Run, so you didn't react badly. Are you covered?”

“Yeah, pants are on.” Shiro gave him a grin when Matt turned all the way around and opened his eyes. “Iverson gave you a hell of an earful, huh?”

“Gary's a dick, but no. Just a little reminder that I had reasons for breaking up with you, and I shouldn't let--” Matt fumbled for words, then gestured vaguely to Shiro's bare chest, “ _that_ pull me back down that rabbit hole again.”

“I got the impression you'd rather _be_ the rabbit hole, actually.” The bigger man gave him another wicked grin and enjoyed the way Matt sucked in his lower lip and shifted his weight before looking away again.

“Dude, can you please behave a little bit like you remember that we broke up and I tried to kill you?”

Shiro lifted his fingers in surrender, then pulled on a tank top. “Right, right. Sorry. Let's go to the Dire Wolf's super secret meeting place where he wants me to have a private meeting with a demon who wags his tail when he's excited.” He made sure he grabbed his keys and wallet on his way past the desk.

“Fucks with you too, huh?” Matt's tone was mildly sympathetic as he opened the door. “Lance is damned adorable. Doesn't compute.”

“He made this little like. Tiny child squeal when he sparked magic to threaten me with.” Shiro tugged on the door behind himself to make certain that it latched before following Matt to his car. The blonde held up his phone with the flashlight on, and Shiro raised his with the screen lighted to give himself a safe space among the shadows racing around the lot.

They got into the car without incident, and Matt didn't turn the headlights on until they were pulling out onto the road. “Didn't know Lance could call magic. He said he was hiveless.”

“That's what he told me, too, but I know magic when I see it.”

“Not doubting that. I remember the witch who came to speak our second year.” Matt's faint frown was barely visible in the dark. “I'll have to make sure Curtis knows about that; it might affect Lance's protection status.” He shot Shiro a quick look at the other man's questioning noise. “Can't cram too many magic users in one Sanctuary,” he explained, “they tend to step on each others' toes.”

“You said 'Curtis,' not 'Adam.' His husband keeps track of Dryreef's stats?”

“He's the local liaison between all the disparate groups that live here,” Matt confirmed, “officially, he works as a communications expert at the Garrison. Civilian contractor, of course.”

“Right. Can't work for the military if you don't remember who you are.”

“Actually it's that the Garrison doesn't directly employ certain species—for a number of very delicately balanced federal reasons—and whatever Curtis is, he's one of them.”

“You don't know?”

“Not everybody wears their DNA like a pride flag, Taka.” Even in the dark, he could see Matt's crooked smile. “Curtis is allowed to not want to share.”

“You know how HOPE feels about—“ Shiro snapped his teeth closed at the quiet hiss from the driver. “Sorry. For a second I forgot.”

“That I'm also a full-fledged agent?” His voice was a little sour. “That technically while you're in my office's town I outrank you? That I got the best grades in our class? Or that HOPE doesn't run the whole-ass fucking world?”

“Matt, for the love of—why do you—if you hate HOPE so much, why did you start working for them? Why take the four years of training? Was it just to be assigned here?”

“You're damn right it is. As the local desk agent, I can keep my people safe—keep my family safe. I can launch a lamp through a solid door and bury it four inches in the wall behind that door from twenty feet away, Taka, and I'm _human._ My parents are almost as strong, almost as smart as I am. My sister is smarter, and stronger. HOPE cannot get their hands on her. My intelligence is alarming, my strength unusual, but both are technically within the range of humanity. I mean, my strength is considered what's possible for an adrenaline spike in the average human, but.”

He turned off the highway, jaw working. “Hers isn't. You remember the R&D guys that came to speak with us our third year. Would you trust them with the knowledge that Katie has been swan diving off our three-story roof onto the concrete surrounding our pool as stress relief since she was four? Or that she climbs trees in lightning storms every season, and has been struck more times than my family can track? Or that she can pick up a classic car's engine with two fingers and fling it down the block?”

Every example made him shrink back into his seat. The bright, cheery voice he'd heard a thousand times from over Matt's phone had captured his heart almost a decade ago, and the thought of what might be done to her in the name of research turned his stomach. “The last desk agent--”

“He almost started a damned war with the whole Sanctuary,” Matt said flatly. “He got transferred to Seattle.” He pulled down a neighborhood road, then into a driveway while Shiro considered the many ways he already knew were available to start a war with Adam's people. The blond put the car in park while he pondered this, then smacked him in the knee while he unbuckled. “I can fill you in more on all of that shit later, but Taka, you should probably focus on why Lance thought it would be a good idea to blow up the Dire's phone just so he could talk to you again.”

“I genuinely can't think of anything I said or did that would make anyone want to bother a wolf the size of an SUV,” Shiro told him earnestly, squinting at the heavily-curtained windows, “or their professor. But it'll be nice to ask more questions, and maybe actually get a decent look at Lance. The candles at the manor house gave a great ambiance, but mostly I saw a vague shadow with big horns and a tail.”

“You like them? We had them enchanted so they'll burn for ten years.” Matt popped his door open and slid out, laughing a little when Shiro scrambled to do the same. “Only cost a little siren blood.”

“H—are there _sirens_ in Dryreef?”

“Maybe, but doubtful. We _are_ in Arizona.” Matt led him up the steps and opened the door without knocking, ushering him quickly into the brightly lit entry.

He recognized the hall immediately. “Our...super secret meeting place is the Dire's house?”

“Technically, it's the basement apartment.” The rich, soft tenor that answered Shiro's question wasn't one he'd heard before, and he turned to his left to see the man who'd spoken. He barely felt Matt's hand at the small of his back for the chill that swept over him. Rich brown skin almost hid the generous splash of freckles across broad cheekbones and shoulders, a thin mouth pulled into a warm smile under a sharp nose that seemed to point directly to the exposed collarbone, but what knocked Shiro to his mental knees were the eyes the color of the deepest parts of the ocean on a clear summer day. “You must be Takashi. Call me Curtis.” He offered his hand to shake.

He was barely aware of a pause, totally oblivious to the extended hand, until he heard Matt laugh quietly. “You're gonna have to put a shirt on, Curtis. C'mon, man, you know there are way too many gay disasters in this town for you to be walking around like that when you're expecting company.”

“I was actually just heading back upstairs,” Curtis' smile never faltered, even as he stepped back and dropped his hand to the stair railing, “Adam's downstairs already, feel free to head on through. I'm sure I'll see you again later, Takashi.” He rolled the fingers on the stained rail in a farewell wave, then headed up the stairs without a backward glance.

Shiro couldn't gather a thought beyond how well the brunette's pajama pants hugged his ass. He felt something like a cold shock go through him when Matt pinched his side. “Ow,” he said reflexively, shaking off the dreamy, unfocused feeling as he turned back towards his ex. “Hey, quick question; what the hell is in the water here that makes literally everyone painfully attractive? I haven't run into this many gorgeous people in a twenty-four hour period before in my _life._ ”

The blond gave him a shrug. “It's always been like this. It's not...it's not that everyone here is 'pretty,' necessarily, it's just that for the most part, no one here is scared. Of anything; Adam protects us from HOPE, the Garrison protects us from scared neighbors lashing out, we generally keep the peace. Pretty sure the fae locked down most of the roads in and out of here when they dragged their war back over the hedge, but Lu made sure we had good ways to let people in or to escape if we needed to. She's been imprisoned once; she definitely didn't want the whole town to feel the way that made her.” He gestured on down the hall, other hand at the small of Shiro's back to propel him forward.

Shuffling along in his stocking feet and trying to look at Matt over his shoulder, Shiro felt his face pull into a frown. “Allura was imprisoned?”

“Something about her father trying to keep her safe from the fae wars,” Matt shrugged again, “obviously she doesn't like to talk about it, so we tend not to ask too many questions. I heard from Gary that you got her...uh. _Lecture_ on that.”

“I don't think I have as intensely wanted to ask a woman to wreck me as I did when she was ready to gut me in the middle of a discount Applebee's.” It came out in a single breathless rush, giddy and almost musical. The grin he shot Matt over his shoulder could easily have been described as 'a little unhinged.' “Gary said she has that effect on almost everybody, though.”

“Yeah, you said something yesterday about wanting her to use you as a footstool,” the blond laughed, prodding him into the kitchen and sliding behind him on the cool tile to grab the railing just inside the open basement door and prevent himself from falling to his death. “Adam?”

“Down here,” the familiar baritone called up, “come on down.” There was a pause; the next words were thick with amusement. “Both of you. I'm wiping down some of the symbols that will make Lance queasy.” He was scrubbing something off the wall when he came into view, back to the staircase on his knees.

Shiro almost missed a step, distracted by the denim stretched tightly across Adam's rear end. He got caught against Matt's arm, and felt his breath leave him at the easy way the blond kept him from tripping and tobogganing the rest of the way down the stairs on his face. He settled his palm on Matt's back when his ex looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. The rest of the stairs didn't cause him any trouble, at least, and he managed to keep his eyes on the way Matt's shoulderblades moved beneath his shirt—he was, at least, used to lascivious thoughts about Matt parading around his mind at any given moment. “There, uh. You have symbols here that could make Lance queasy?”

“Yeah. He is a demon and this is a meditation den. Lotta religious symbols.” Adam shot him a sideways look that made him drop his gaze to the floor. “I live down here during the full moon. Suppressants can stop the madness, but they don't do anything for the shift, and Curtis can't find a reinforcement that works for the couch he got to go with our décor. So,” he gestured to the enormous, lumpy-looking couch in the middle of the open, finished space, “I sleep on that, eat out of bowls on the floor, keep raw meat loosely wrapped in paper in the freezer. It's all very _domestic_.” He flashed his teeth, but Shiro knew better than to think the expression on his face was a smile.

Shiro looked to Matt for a cue, but the smaller blond had moved to help Adam scrub at the wall. “So. Uh. Meditation? I guess you uh. Don't have a lot else to keep yourself entertained with down here.” He cleared his throat awkwardly when Adam sat back on his heels and turned to get a little better look at him. “Sorry, that sounded like an 'enrichment' joke, didn't it?” He couldn't stop the phrase from exiting his mouth, even as his brain registered Matt's eyes widening and the frantic 'no' mouthed in his direction.

He held very still as Adam swiveled on the balls of his feet, suppressing the reflexive swallow that accompanied the Dire easing to his full height and silently walking over to him. The golden gleam in those yellow-brown eyes was unmistakable now, and reminded Shiro that he was a small meal to a thing like Adam. He felt very small when the taller man stopped in front of him and leaned down slightly, so that they were eye to eye. Adam's nostrils flared; Shiro counted the possible escape routes, accounted for the Dire's possible speed, and came to the conclusion that there was no way of getting out of this without wrestling a giant wolf. He tried to brace himself without changing his body language to any shade of aggression.

With their noses almost touching, Adam surprised him with a soft laugh, and it wasn't entirely relief that flooded down Shiro's spine. “I like that. You have a good sense of humor. Nice to see that in a hunter.” He stretched back and turned to rejoin Matt, who had a quick, harshly whispered conversation with him that Shiro's ears were ringing too hard to overhear.

“That's definitely what I liked about him!” Lance's bright voice rang through the basement from the far side, followed by the sound of a heavy outer door swinging shut.

“Not quite done with the scrub yet, Lance, stay in the entry a minute,” Adam called back.

 


	5. Friends Are Food (Sometimes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Hunk prepare for Lance meeting Shiro again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter breaks the previous pattern of third-person-Shiro-centric POV. I apologize if it's a little jarring, we will return to our regularly-scheduled Shiro-brain next chapter.

The sound of the loose nest rustling brought his attention back behind him. He reveled in the play of candlelight on warm, dark skin, and slunk closer when the soft arm pulled back in with a shiver. “Sorry, did you get cold? I thought the candles would keep like...a warm bubble around the manor.” He nestled in against the bare skin, one segmented, semi-transparent wing immediately draping over his companion's form. “I just wanted to make a phone call.”

“What, another one?” Calloused fingers slid through delightfully soft brown hair, and deep brown eyes—black in the flickering candlelight—admired the play of warm light along the demon's long back. “How many times before dawn are you going to call people? Most folk do need sleep, Lance.” He sighed as the demon's legs slid and twined around his. “Mm, and recovery time.”

“I sleep,” Lance objected mildly, tilting his head into the petting with a hum, “and I thought I was being good about respecting your recovery time.” He lifted his head a little, frowning. “I just also know that sometimes you like it when I--”

“Hey.” The brush of a thumb over a pouting lower lip quieted him. “You know I absolutely love that, like. A _lot._ But not on a school night, yeah? I gotta get at least a good four hour nap in before my first class or I'm gonna drag ass all day.” He tapped his thumb twice when the pout slid into a wicked grin. “None of that, come on.”

“I just wanted to say that you can drag your ass over my--” the rest of the sentence was muffled by a large hand, but the demon's breathy laughter was as clear as the night sky. Lance moved the hand and loudly, playfully kissed the palm. “Sorry, Hunk. I'll try to be good and wholesome now.”

“Don't strain yourself,” the human laughed, pulling him back down into a comfortable cuddle, “you wouldn't be Lance if you went totally wholesome.” They lay there for a moment in the pile of loose fabrics, content, before Hunk lifted his head slightly. “Hey, do we have any of those bagged salads left? Curtis said he'd throw in a couple for me and I could use the energy boost.”

“I'll find you one.” Lance nuzzled Hunk's hairline and sat up, tucking fabric over the human to keep him warm, then crawled over to the ice chest nearby. He rifled around for a moment, then came back with a bag of salad and a fork. “I could probably find you a plate if you don't mind waiting,” he joked, “or the mild radiation.”

“This is a safe zone,” Hunk reminded him as he sat up, “or the professor wouldn't have put you up here. It's what, a two? That's safe even for regular humans like me to live in. The town just hasn't reclaimed it because it's 'spooky.'” He accepted the bag and began mixing the salad together inside of it.

“I wish it was something more along the lines of 'the previous uneducated world was rife with ravening greed and flagrant excess in an attempt to drown out the loneliness of the narrative they'd written themselves into, and the town is filled with shame at the broken reminders of a self-destructive past,' but I guess 'spooky,' is probably more accurate.” Lance stretched his wings as he sat beside the nest, mostly blocking out one side, then the other, of the smattering of stars Hunk could see behind him. “I mean, half the humans in Dryreef still think the Dire is a RAD wolf.”

“The best part about that is that from what Katie's told me, most humans have never seen a RAD wolf, they just had no concept of how big actual wolves are. For a tinfoil hatter, she's pretty thorough about debunking urban legends.” He scooted forward and tipped his head, digging a bite of damp lettuce from the bag as Lance settled behind him.

“Gotta know which legends are crap, and which ones get her one step closer to wooing Mothra,” the demon laughed.

“Moth _man_ ,” Hunk corrected in his best imitation of their classmate's strangled rage, “Mothra is _fictional_ , everyone _knows_ that.” The loose, free laugh from the demon cuddling him made him breathe a little easier. He leaned comfortably against Lance's chest, enjoying the warmth wrapped around him as he ate. “Hey, Lance?”

“Yeah, buddy?” Even the energetic demon seemed to be drowsing a little in their comfortable pose.

“Why do you want to see that hunter again so much? He came here to kill you, and—listen, no, I know he said he promised Professor Whitehorse he wouldn't, but that's flimsy as hell and I know he's really powerful and everything but it's not like he's invincible and--” he ducked his head a little and shoved another bite of salad into his mouth when Lance plopped his face down into his hair. “I worry about you, man,” Hunk mumbled around a mouthful of lettuce, “you're too trusting.”

“I just have a good feeling about him,” the demon hummed cheerfully into his hair, “he asked questions, and he listened when I answered. Or, I mean, he tried to, but you know—hunter. He's got all that prejudice-slash-training he's gotta try to listen through. And it's not like I'm asking to see him alone somewhere. Adam and Curtis will be nearby, you'll be napping upstairs--”

“I don't want to be caught napping if some bloodspiller decides to redecorate our professor's basement with you!” Was the yelped objection.

“What, are you gonna carry your totally illegal homemade rail gun through Professor Whitehorse's delicate suburban neighborhood at four in the morning? Stay up all night until you have to leave for class? _Drag ass all day?_ C'mon, Hunk, my man, my dude, my Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love, be reasonable.” Lance cupped his jaw and tipped his head back, giving him a fond smile. “I'll be fine. I'll be safe. Even setting aside the Dire and Curtis, Matt will be there, and no hunter wants to tangle with a Holt.”

“I'm pretty sure the only place that family is actually infamous is here in Dryreef,” Hunk sighed, but he tugged his face free from those clawed hands without a flicker of concern that he might get hurt, and returned to his bagged salad.

“Fine, but Matt's also his boss while he's here,” Lance reminded him, “Matt's texts said he's a HOPE agent, and he pretty heavily implied it when we talked. Mentioned his 'organization,' and made his training sound like it was structured. So...at least we know he responds to a chain of command and he's not one of those nutball gung-ho trunk-arsenal type hunters?” He sighed at Hunk's unconvinced grumble, and curled a little more tightly around the bulky man. “Plus, infamous or not, Matt's nearly indestructible, so whether or not this hunter is afraid of him, I'll be safe.” He peppered the side of Hunk's neck with kisses until the other man was almost giggling.

“Lance—Lance, I'm trying to eat!” Breathless with laughter, Hunk straightened back up and returned to his meal. “Why do you do that, anyway? Am I not feeding you enough, that you need almost constant snacks?”

The demon went thoughfully quiet, nestling his cheek against Hunk's hair. “I just like to hear you laugh,” he said simply, sliding his hands over Hunk's arms, enjoying the feel of his skin against his palms. He waited while Hunk ate more of his salad, just enjoying his friend's company and the smell of his body butter. “Actually,” he said slowly, and watched Hunk automatically chew faster to clear his mouth in response to the lazy tone, “I like to hear all the sounds you make.” He slid his hands down from Hunk's arms to his knees and dragged his palms to the insides of his thighs. “I like your laughs, and your sighs, and your moans, and the little hitches in your breathing that sound like squeaks--”

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk sighed, pressing back against him despite the protest, “I'm _trying to eat_.”

“You always complain if I seduce you when you've eaten too much,” the demon said reasonably, nuzzling his face behind Hunk's ear, “I'm just trying to be considerate.”

The human rolled his head back and to the side, looking up at him with mild concern along the edges of his vaguely growing interest. “Are you actually still hungry?”

“Mm, no,” Lance gave him a little smile, “just horny. I'll stop if you tell me to.”

Hunk thought for a moment, enjoying the sensual nature of Lance's drifting touches. “Can we just do this for a while? I like...this.” He shunted aside a dozen different phrases, words along the lines of ' _I like it when you make me feel sexy,_ ' and ' _I miss being desirable here,_ ' or even ' _I just want to lose track of time like this._ ' “Sorry, I--”

“You don't have to be sorry,” the demon interrupted him gently, nudging the salad bag to encourage him to return to eating, “you never have to be sorry. We can stay like this all morning.”

He was true to his word, letting Hunk drift in a haze of feeling like the center of his universe while the human finished his salad. Somewhere along the line, he started whispering things in Portuguese that Hunk assumed were compliments or affirmations—Lance was always telling him things that made him feel better about how he'd been treated since he'd arrived in the States—but he didn't ask for translations because he was wrapped up in the adoring tone in which they were spoken. “Hey,” he mumbled drowsily, finally setting the empty bag aside, “I'm. I'm gonna go with you to Professor Whitehorse's. I'll nap on the couch but I want to be there if that hunter upsets you. I know when you're upset I help you calm down.” He dropped his hands to twine his fingers with Lance's on the tops of his thighs, exhaling slowly at the pleased hum against the side of his neck.

“What time does he want us there?” He let his head roll back against Lance's shoulder.

“Mm, he said five.” Lance tilted his head with Hunk's to keep him from hitting his head on his horns. “Do you want to stay like this until then, _meu guerriero_?” His lips brushed Hunk's ear, and he pushed their hands further down Hunk's legs, towards his knees. “I can keep telling you how beautiful you are, how the stars are jealous of your eyes and the space between them wishes it was as warm as your skin.” He dragged in a breath right against Hunk's skin, and the human heard the faint rumble of Lance's stomach. “Or how much I love how much you love being told how wonderful you are?”

Hunk let out a husky laugh. “Your favorite snack, right?”

“ _Absolutely_.” The demon's voice dragged into a light growl, and his fingers curled, claws delicately sliding over dark skin. “But also, I told you—I really like the sounds you make.”

He laughed again, shifting at the touch of Lance's claws, and let out a long, slow exhale. “We should start heading back, actually,” he said reluctantly, “it's an hour's drive to the professor's from here at optimal speeds and I'm going to have to drive slow for your balance.”

“We have some time,” Lance hummed.

“Lance,” Hunk turned his head to look at his phone, the time glowing cool on the screen, “it's already ten to four and I'm still naked.”

“What?” The demon's head lifted, and Hunk saw his face pull into a scowl at the numbers glowing on the phone. “Nnnno, that can't be right. That's gotta be little tricksies drawn in by the candlelight.” He turned his face back to bury it in Hunk's thick hair. “I wanna stay here _and_ go,” he whined.

“If we hurry, we can still text the professor--” He laughed when the demon started to wiggle himself free of their comfortable tangle.

“I'm not going to have called him a dozen times before dawn just to text him an hour before he's expecting me and tell him that actually I'd rather be cuddling my bestie.” Lance dug around the edge of the nest and pulled out Hunk's clothes, tossing them into his lap to the sound of his friend's laughter. “Anyway, if you want you can come by after classes tomorrow and we can cuddle all evening.”

“I have study group with Katie tomorrow,” Hunk reminded him gently as he sorted out his clothes, “it's Thursday.” He watched the demon deflate a little out of the corner of his eye and sighed, pulling on his boxer-briefs. “Maybe after, though? I can bring you more food, too.”

“Augh, I ate so many burgers tonight I don't think I'll need food again 'til Sunday,” Lance groaned, rubbing his stomach. He dropped to sit beside the nest, grinning at the human hopping on one foot to pull on his pants. “You should sleep, though, tomorrow. You don't sleep as well here as you do in the Garrison.”

“I sleep _great_ next to you,” the reassurance was casual, “it's the crawlies and the coyotes I don't really like sharing a nap space with.”

“One little tarantula crawls on your face,” Lance teased.

“It was not _little_ , it was the size of half my head, and anyway, as soon as we get this business with your horns and stuff sorted out we can go back to sleeping in the same bed at the Garrison.” Hunk paused before he picked up his shirt, then gave the demon a little smile and reached out to run his fingers through hair finer than rabbit's fluff. “We're going to sort this out, Lance, yeah? You'll be back at the Garrison mouthing off in class in no time.” He ruffled Lance's hair lightly, then picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Okay! Let's get moving.”

Lance straightened up and brushed himself off, offering his friend a bright smile. “All right, fine. I promise I'll remember to keep my tail tucked in this time so you don't run over it.”

“I'm still really really sorry about that.” Hunk hopped awkwardly as he pulled his sandals on, only for Lance to put a steadying arm around him and help him towards the motorcycle.

“You are way more upset about it that I am,” the demon reassured, “it was just a momentary pain. You don't have to keep apologizing or feeling guilty about it. I step on my tail all the time, and at this point I'm sort of certain that I weigh more than you do.”

“Not as much as me _and_ the bike,” the objection was muffled as Hunk pulled his helmet on. Out of habit, he flipped open one of the side baskets to pull out another helmet, only to have Lance's hand settle on the back of his wrist. “Yeah, that's not going to fit you, is it?” He laughed a little self-consciously, tucking it back and closing the top again.

“You know how much I love that you're still doing everything you can to protect me?” Lance hugged him from behind, nuzzling his hair. “Trying to put a helmet on a demon, you really are the sweetest person in the whole universe. Even if they knew me like you do, most people wouldn't even try.” He hummed at Hunk's embarassed grumble and nuzzled his hair again. “I could balance it on a horn, I think?”

“Okay, okay, I get it, my impulses to protect you are quaint and hilarious,” the human sighed, only to get half-lifted and snuggled until he wheezed, “La-ance! I can't get you to the professor's house if I've got broken ribs!”

“I wasn't going to break you,” Lance reassured, setting him down carefully and straightening his shirt with a gentle tug, “I'm just...you know I love you, man, and I really do love everything you do to protect me.” He waited for Hunk to settle onto the bike, then climbed on behind him, lifting his legs up to wrap them around Hunk's soft waist. His tail twined up under the human's shirt, dragging a sharp breath from Hunk as the spaded tip dragged over a nipple.

“It's gotten longer again,” Hunk noted, reaching up to settle the spade over his heart, where Lance tightened it in delight, “is it safe to cut back how much I'm feeding you? I'm worried about contributing to your problem.”

“Probably we could back it up to two nights a week instead of three,” the demon mused, draping his arms over Hunk's shoulders and settling his cheek on the young man's head. “Wenedsays and Saturdays, maybe?”

Hunk hummed thoughtfully, minding the balance of the motorcycle as he pulled towards the highway. “Just cut out Mondays? Yeah, and if you start getting too hungry between then you can just uh...” he glanced down at the heavily clawed hands resting lightly against his chest, “tell your phone assistant to text me, and I'll come.” He worked his jaw at the quiet cackle by his ear. “Yeah, okay, so that wasn't my greatest word choice ever, but also I'm not wrong. Get a message to me and I'll show up to feed you. We can cuddle and you can get snacks.”

Lance's deep sigh ruffled Hunk's hair. “I really hate having to schedule cuddle time,” he whined, tightening everything he had wrapped around the human, “I just want—” He buried his face in Hunk's neck to cut himself off.

“Hey,” the tone was so gentle it almost vanished beneath the sound of the engine, “I know you're super lonely out there, man. We'll get this sorted out in no time, I promise. The professor's working on it, and Curtis, and me, and Katie, and her nutso tinfoil-hat foster brother, and who knows who all else. We're gonna help you get this shift—or, or manifestation, right, that's what it's called, right—under control. Then you can come back to school and be the best pilot the Garrison's ever seen, and we can be roommates like we agreed, and you can go back to hate-banging Nick the Dick after Phys. Ed.”

“It wasn't always hate-banging,” Lance objected mildly, “sometimes it was just because we were horny.” He rubbed his cheek on Hunk's hair again. “You just don't want to be stuck as the only guy I'm feeding from, huh? Still feeling awkward about it?”

“Still straight,” the human clarified, “but I guess I figure I'm comfortable with it with you because it's you. I've seen you in all kinds of uh...configurations, I guess I kind of stopped thinking of you as a guy in general. Is. Is that okay? I mean--”

“I don't really think of myself as a guy, in general,” the Cuban hummed against his neck, “so that works out perfectly. I mean, I have days I wanna wear cute dresses and chunky heels and listen to a background jingle of bracelets behind everything else and be told I'm a pretty lady, but then I also have days where I want to wear pants with too many pockets and argue with Nicky about the falling market prices of gryphon feathers while we drink black coffee and--”

“Lance, stop, stop,” Hunk was laughing hard enough to concern himself about keeping control of the bike, “you _hate_ cargo pants, you'd rather be lit on fire than drink coffee, and the last time you opened a conversation with Nick about the price of his feathers he almost broke your nose.”

“Okay, okay, so I wanna wear skinny jeans and make jocks sweat over their sexuality and drink bubble tea in the sunshine while the lovelies ask me about my waxing routine while they tell me I'm the prettiest man they've ever seen,” the bright core of Lance's tone was returning, and Hunk felt something in himself unclench a little. “That's my version of masculine, you're right.” He kept his face nestled into his friend's neck, tail pressing firmly against the warm heartbeat Hunk offered. “You know me too well, buddy. I'd be ashamed, if I was capable of feeling that. I'll be flattered, instead.” He paused, then lifted his head slightly. “I mean, I _am_ flattered. That you're comfortable with me, I mean. I know fooling around with me freaked you out at first and I'm so, so happy that it doesn't any more, and--”

“Lance,” his tone was still gentle, patient, “I think it's fine if we both just admit we're still figuring things out, and agree not to be nervous at each other over the whole thing. Yeah?” He risked a quick glance over his shoulder to give the demon a reassuring smile before dutifully returning his eyes to the road.

“Yeah,” the word was small and soft, and Hunk could all but see the smile his friend was giving him—the way it made his eyes look like the depths around polar ice, the crinkle around his eyes that would have made him panic if it was pointed out, the way he not-quite-struggled to contain the tiny curve of his lips. It was the kind of smile that gave off light, and Hunk spared a thought for the shadow-walkers no doubt moving back to their compound by now. He wondered, idly, if it was safe for them to be near Lance even in the darkest hours, even as he knew the thought was silly.

“Hey, if your meeting with the hunter guy--”

“He said his name was Shiro.”

“Right okay, this Shiro guy gets finished before I have to get up to go to class you'll come lie down with me on the couch, right? It's the basement couch so there'll be lots of room.” He let the grin flicker across his face and turned his head slightly so that Lance could see it. “I won't even complain when you use your wings as a blanket.”

“Hah!” Lance pressed his smile against Hunk's neck, drawing a shiver with the faint scrape of fangs. “Like you have ever complained about getting to use my wings as a blanket. Starting to think you kind of dig this whole monster thing, Hunka Chunka.”

“Well, I mean,” his smile didn't falter at all, “you know I think you're beautiful no matter what form you take, right, Lance? Plus the tail's pretty cute and the horns are kinda...”

“Useful handholds?” The demon took obvious delight in the awkward cough his comment elicited.

“Uh. I was gonna say 'neat,' I swear,” Hunk covered his non-denial with an awkward half-laugh, “and yeah, the wings are like, the best blanket when it's chilly at night. And you know Curtis keeps the air conditioner up like, way too high. I get cold easily.”

“I promise I'll spread my wings when I settle in,” Lance hummed in his ear, giving his waist a light squeeze, “make sure you get some cozy hours of sleep.”

“It's a little weird that they're so warm, honestly?” The human tipped his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the demon coiled so closely against him. “'Cause they're like...hyper segmented transparent flitty bug wings, and no one really expects those to be cozy.”

“You know that most demons consider 'bug' to be a racial slur,” the reminder came with the delicate, warning scrape of fangs across the side of his neck, but Hunk knew better than to think that he was in danger or that the demon was offended, “but I know what they look like. I always thought they'd be like, bat wings, you know, or some badass dark-feathered ones like evil angel stuff? But it turns out demons aren't actually fallen angels like all the hype says.”

“I know how hard you took that when you first found out,” his voice was still soft and gentle, “but hey, it's okay. I think your wings are at least a thousand times cooler than any feathery bird knockoff or bat wannabe out there. They're like. Really complex clockwork pieces. Anyway, I thought it was only arch-demons that were supposed to be fallen angels? I admit, I'm not as...well-versed as you, when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

“I love that you know as much as you do,” it earned him a nuzzle against his neck, “and honestly, I don't know any more. All this stuff's flipped up and around since the first time I ever talked to Valjaq and he told me what I am. I know _I'm_ no angel, fallen or not, and Valjaq was insistent about him not even being associated to them.” Lance sighed again, comfortable curled around Hunk, even while maintaining the delicate balance of the motorcycle. “I wish I had his number, I bet he and the professor would get along great.”

“I'm pretty sure Curtis would object a little bit, at least, if you introduced his husband to the demon hive head who was, y'know, enough to seduce a constructed god. Which like, that whole uh, that whole sentence is a _trip_ into weird religious territory, even for us.”

“To be fair, it's been a lot easier on me since the professor explained what the gods are.”

“I'm just really, really glad they stay out of Arizona,” Hunk glanced at the small, glowing clock on his bike, “Curtis said that was because of a deal they made with uh. The Guardians, right? Or was it the fae?”

“Sort of both? The fae left so many hedge gaps in the area that it'd be dangerous for angels or gods to live here—put too much strain on the fabric of reality I guess, and they already burned most of their power building the construct the first time they put a snag in it.”

Hunk let a minute or so of silence lay between them, frowning faintly. “Is it just me or does it feel like...kind of nauseating to think of 'the fabric of reality' like a snagged pair of pantyhose?”

“Yeah, let's change the subject,” the demon agreed hastily. “you'll remind Katie that she promised to visit, right? I won't even complain if she brings that nutjob foster brother of hers with her.”

“Hah!” The driver shot a brief grin over his shoulder. “You just want to see if you can work your wiles on him. Just because they can't identify what he is doesn't mean anything, you know—you told me yourself, there's only a tiny number of Extrahuman species that can resist the pull of a demon's smile.”

“I mean, you know it's not really our smile, right? We actually sort of...vibrate at frequency that we adjust until it appeals to our target. No bug jokes,” he reminded Hunk quickly when the human chuckled.

“I won't, I won't, I know it's a racial insult,” his friend reassured gently, but he couldn't strip the amusement from his voice, “and I know you mean like, your metaphysical bodies. Anyway, peacocks vibrate to attract mates, too, and to scare off competition.”

“I guess I'd rather be a bird than a bug,” Lance mused. Hunk felt him straighten up as they pulled onto Adam's residential street. “You think Curtis is really mad that I called a bajillion times in the tiny hours?”

“Uh...let's go in the back and not find out one way or the other.” Hunk killed the engine on the bike as they rolled into the driveway and waited for Lance to disentangle himself before settling the kickstand on the concrete and dismounting himself. He shooed the nine-foot demon down the hidden staircase that led to the basement door and followed quickly, checking to make sure none of the neighbors' curtains showed signs of movement.

The heavy door was unlocked, as Adam had reassured him it would be, and they heard their professor's voice: “You have a good sense of humor. Nice to see that in a hunter.”

Hunk felt his heart sink a little at the immediate lift of Lance's tail. “That's definitely what I liked about him!” He sang into the basement apartment, carefully wiping his feet on the mat.

“Not quite done with the scrub yet, Lance, stay in the entry a minute,” the Dire called from around the other side of the couch.

 


	6. Flirting With Demons Has Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Shiro finally get the chance to talk face-to-face in a casual setting.

“Okay!” Shiro heard the demon chirp back, and he shook himself to help the two blonds on the floor scrub away at the symbols. He glanced at Adam, keeping his voice low. “Matt said you had instructions for me pertaining to this meeting?”

“More 'general ettiquette,' really,” the Dire informed him, also quiet, “if he decides he wants to stop talking with you, you leave. No 'one last question,' nothing. No trying to convince him to leave Dryreef with you so you can kill him. If you try to leave with him, I will call Gary and he will melt your brain between your ears before you make it three blocks.” He pointed to the next sigil for Shiro to scrub away. “I'm not ignorant of the fact that HOPE trains its agents in the basics of car theft.”

“Fair enough,” Shiro muttered, but his lips twitched in a smile, “at least you wouldn't be sending the best friend with the rail gun after me.”

“Damn, is he still toting that thing around? I told him to knock that off.” The Dire sounded only mildly inconvenienced by the thought of a twenty-something young man hauling unmounted artillery around town. “We nearly had a riot on our hands the one time he took it to the firing range for a test round.” He shook his head. “Try not to stand too close to him. He might startle, and the edges of his wings are sharp.” He gave the hunter a sideways look. “And try not to trip over your tongue too much.”

“Wh—I--” The brunette cleared his throat, biting back an awkward smile. “Have I been that obvious?”

“You are the biggest disaster I've seen since Katie introduced me to her foster brother,” the golden-brown eyes flicked over to him in amusement, “and he spent a solid five minutes desperately trying not to proposition my husband with every other word out of his mouth.”

“I take it he didn't succeed,” Shiro murmured to Matt as Adam stood, tossing his textured sponge into the kitchen sink.

“He started out with 'fuck me sideways,' and went downhill from there,” his ex confirmed, making sure the last form of his symbol was clean. His sponge joined Adam's, joined shortly by Shiro's. “All done, Lance,” he called, and the demon's name was barely past his lips when the excited creature practically leapt into his arms. Shiro was struck by the thought that Lance's height had to be seventy percent leg. “Woof,” Matt gave him a grin, gently setting Lance's taloned feet on the floor, “you've gained some mass since the last time I bridal-carried you, gorgeous.”

“Are you saying you're not strong enough to hold me any more?” Lance's cheerful tone brought a smile to Shiro's face despite him having nearly drawn his weapon at the demon's sudden entrance. “Have I finally made you weak in the joints, Matt-Matt? Are you succumbing to my wily wicked wiles?”

“Like melted butter, Lance, as always,” Matt kissed the demon's forehead when Lance bent to offer it. He tipped his head towards Adam.

The demon stepped back and offered the Dire a sweeping bow, tail echoing the motion of the clawed hand crossing his body. “I apologize for the insistence, Guardian, and the early hour. I thought it best to travel while no prying eyes dared peek, to avoid panic.” The formal tone was similar to what he had first used at the ruin, to try to intimidate Shiro, but it was threaded with respectful restraint. “You have my thanks for the hosting, atop all the countless debts I owe.” He offered his hands, palms up, and bowed his head.

Adam managed to look regal despite the smears of chalk, and tipped his head. The flash of gold was unmistakable, and Shiro suddenly realized that the formality wasn't Lance's way of announcing his discomfort—this meeting was, in fact, very formal. He spared a desperate thought for the extra white button-down shirts he'd left airing back at the hotel, and shot Matt a hard look. “You have been given as the laws of hospitality demand, and have indeed asked very little of your own. You owe me no great debt, and have my thanks for your thoughts on the comfort of my people, despite my personal feelings on the hour itself.” He held his hands out to Lance, sliding their palms across one another until he gripped the demon's wrists. “You are my guest,” he noted quietly, “my blood spills to spare yours.”

Shiro found his eyes locked on the heavy claws now sported by both men, and the beads of blood welling up under the tips. He shot another look at Matt, who looked entirely unconcerned and, in Shiro's opinion, way too relaxed for something as formal as the admittedly small blood pact happening right in front of them.

“You are my host,” Lance's reply was also quiet, “I fight beside you with each breath.” They were still a moment; Shiro blinked and the blood was gone. The heavy feeling in the room wavered, then broke with the demon's small laugh. “I really hope you don't intend to kill me any more, Shiro,” he said lightly, releasing Adam's arms, “I'd hate to see Adam tear into you.” He turned, and Shiro let his eyes sweep over the now well-lighted face.

His skin was a kind of muddled, dusky blue, spattered with a small crest of lighter spots across the bridge of a long, sharp nose. His lips were thin, but pulled into a warm, welcoming smile, and Shiro barely caught a glimpse of the heavy fangs behind. The corners of his eyes crinkled the slightest bit, and the rich blue pupils were almost lost in the pitch black sclera above sharp cheekbones. Slightly shaggy brown hair hung down over his forehead, and Shiro wondered for a moment what he used in it, that it was still shining and soft-looking even while he lived in a ruin.

“Do I pass muster?” Lance asked impishly, spreading his hands. The light shimmered on the swirls of icier blue inside his claws. The color reminded the hunter of the tiny spark of magic that had so delighted the demon the night before.

He opened his mouth to reply—a quip, some witty retort, perhaps, almost definitely a flirtatious sally—but something seemed off. He'd heard stories of demons that could seduce the gods themselves, creatures that could shame a siren's call with a quirk of their lips or the demure lowering of their eyes, and he'd been expecting some reaction, something along the lines of how he'd gargled his own lust with everyone he'd met so far. Something soul-clutching, the very teetering precipice of raw _temptation._ Instead, he decided that yes, Lance was very attractive, and if he hadn't been literally surrounded by a town full of people who could have easily eviscerated him with their raw beauty, Shiro might have spent a moment in awe. But in comparison to Adam, whose eyes were still clinging to flecks of the shining gold that showcased his inner beast, and Matt, whose brow was wrinkling in concern above a face he'd loved and lusted after for a decade, Lance seemed just a touch plain.

He felt his face pulling into a frown, and pulled it to one side in an attempt at a smirk. “I dunno, I guess I was picturing...” he swept his eyes up and down the demon again, taking in his intensely offset body proportions, and finally felt his smile turn into something recognizable, “more leg?”

Lance blinked at him several times, then laughed and clapped his hands. “I love it,” he announced, tail whipping delightedly behind him. He held very still when Hunk gently grasped it and moved it to one side in order to give Shiro a sour look.

Regardless, when Hunk spoke, it was to Lance. “I'm going to tuck into the couch, buddy,” he finally lifted his eyes from Shiro to smile adoringly up at the nine-foot-tall creature, “you holler if you need me, okay?” The smile faded as he returned his gaze to the hunter. “I'll wake right up.”

“Mm,” Lance bent down to nuzzle his face into Hunk's hair, “I'll be okay, Hunk. Get some sleep, okay?” He patted the human's shoulders gently as he walked away, giving his broad back a soft, sweet smile that sharpened and became more professional as he turned it on Matt and Adam. “Thank you again, both of you,” he said quietly, and Shiro marveled at the confidence it took to offer someone who turned into an enormous wolf a dismissal in his own home.

Adam seemed to think nothing of it, and swatted Matt as he turned. “Come on,” he grumbled, “Curtis pulled out the upstairs couch for you. Like waking up to a dozen calls at one-thirty in the morning wasn't bad enough, now I'm playing host to a _fucking Holt._ ” He kept muttering as Matt laughed and followed him, and both Lance and Shiro watched them go until the basement door swung closed.

Lance turned to Shiro slowly, then gestured to the small, battered steel table in the kitchen and its equally-rough chairs. As the hunter perched carefully on one chair, the demon crossed his legs and sat on the floor, giving Shiro the height advantage. “You wanted to ask me more questions,” he prompted with a smile, “but I have some for you, too.”

Shiro leaned forward a little, shooting a look towards the giant couch. “Can I ask about the rail gun? Neither Adam nor Matt seemed phased when I brought it up and it's kind of...” He felt his face twitch into an odd expression. “Both very illegal and kind of hot? That he just swings that thing around like that. Can he really hold it and fire and not have all of his bones shatter from the impact?”

Laughing, the demon lifted both hands and bounced them in the air, palms down, to get Shiro to slow down and breathe. “He made it himself, yes it shoots where he aims, he can't hold it as steady as he pretends but it gets the job done, and no, his bones haven't broken from the recoil yet. The city council has asked him to keep it outside city limits, because when he test fired it at the big range—we have an artillery range, you know, military base in the middle of the desert and all—he sort of got in trouble for using a homemade gun. The local paper picked up the story, you know, 'Immigrant Soldier Builds Heavy Weaponry In Basement,' type of headline? People flew into a panic, and it took Adam and Curtis weeks to get everyone calmed down.”

He gave Shiro a little grin, slouching over his almost comically long legs. “You were expecting something else when you looked me in the eyes, right? Like, vertigo-inducing lust, or something?”

The HOPE agent felt his lips push into a slightly awkward pucker. “I was, sorry. I guess it's one of those things that I always heard about demons that turned out to be a myth?”

“Well, a little. It's not an instantaneous thing,” Lance leaned on one elbow comfortably, “we have to tune ourselves in to peoples' specific frequencies, like...like old-timey radios. It's work, and it takes time. Usually up to two hours of sustained contact or conversation.” He pursed his lips and looked thoughtful, squinting in the general direction of the stairs. “It's like, everyone else here does it though, right? Instantaneous, lung-stealing _want_ , like, every moment I look at them. Is that just me, like, is that my demon thing being out of control, or something?”

“It's not just you,” Shiro assured him, lifting a hand to mimic the motion of ease the demon had given him a moment ago, “I thought I'd just become a thousand times more of a bisexual disaster than usual this week.”

“It's this _town_ ,” the demon leaned forward a little, lighting up, “something about it. The longer you live here, the more intense it is for outsiders. They don't even notice it! Hunk arrived here about a month and a half before I did, he says he's starting to get used to it now? But like, the professor—uh. Adam, he's lived here his whole life, and like— _wham!_ \--right? All the air, gone.” He gestured to his slender torso for emphasis. “I think it's all the hedge gaps the fae left with their war, maybe. Loose fae magics seeping into everything and making it a target for humanity's weaknesses?”

“It's a theory,” Shiro heard how doubtful his tone sounded even as it dragged free of his lips, “but it doesn't fit the little I know about fae lore. You could ask A—hm. Maybe _I_ could ask Allura. No offense, but the, ah.” He waved his fingers in a vaguely encompassing gesture at the demon on the floor.

“Yeah, I might freak her out. Who's Allura?”

“She's fae royalty, according to Iverson. She works as a waitress at Insada's. Matt says the...the _thing_ is because no one here's afraid of anything, but.” He spread his fingers, emphasizing his doubtful expression.

“Yeah, that's bullshit,” Lance leaned back, making a face, “people here are afraid plenty. It may not be of the Great Big Scary Things, like another war or the planet plunging into the sun, but everybody's got fears. Sanctuary or not, Guardians or not, there will always be races that others view with fear or distrust. No one wants to be out when the shadow-walkers are wandering, but you know, it's not their fault they're harmed by light, or that their touch hurts.”

Shiro blinked, also leaning back. He considered the demon folded up on the floor. “Shadow-walkers were granted protection rights before almost every other race of Extrahuman, except vampires and weres,” he noted thoughtfully, “HOPE teaches all of their agents in training that they're a peaceful people. You've got a point, though—there are things people are afraid of that not even a Dire Wolf can make them feel safe from.”

“Like a nine-foot-tall, horned, clawed demon with bluish skin, as an example.” The grin Lance shot him was cheeky.

“Or his best friend, who can build functional rail guns in his spare time,” the hunter agreed with a nod. They sat for a moment, savoring the humor, and Shiro dropped his eyes to his hands to avoid feeling awkward as his smile fell away. “Have you told him? About your magic?”

“Yeah, and he is super stoked for me but also gave me like, a thousand warnings about handling it carefully,” Lance grasped his ankles and rocked back and forth on his backside, “and I didn't try again because then I was eating, and it's rude to call magic when you're performing oral sex.”

“I—yeah, that sounds pretty rude, I'll admit. What type of magic did you call, anyway? I only got a glimpse.”

“Yeah, and you totally thought it was going to be bigger, huh? That's why you hid.” The tip of his tongue poked out from between his heavy fangs as he grinned up at Shiro, and the hunter looked away again, biting his lips together to prevent himself from beaming at the cute expression. He tasted blood when he heard the scrape of Lance's wagging tail on the kitchen floor.

“Yeah,” he managed, strained, “I definitely thought it was going to be bigger.”

“It was uh. Ice, I think. That's always what I used to think of throwing when I was little and playing pretend. It...it wasn't really big enough to do anything but sparkle a little. It made a kind of 'pop' sound when it went out.” Lance shrugged and tipped his head, one horn nearly brushing the counter. “I can try again, but maybe not in the professor's basement. I don't want to burst a pipe or anything when he's managed to stay in a good mood even though I woke up Curtis.”

“So it's 'the professor' and 'Curtis'? Isn't his husband a communications contractor at the Garrison?”

“Yeah, but he's a civilian so we're allowed to call him by his first name, and anyway he really really hates formality, also like, ninety percent of people have a problem pronouncing his married name and he refuses to translate it like the professor does.”

Shiro drew in a breath, paused, and leaned forward. “Can you pronounce it?”

“Kawayoqöötsa,” Lance said, very carefully and with a faint frown. “I think that's right? Curtis helped me go over it like, a hundred times my first day here because I wanted to actually try. I think it's polite to learn how to say peoples' names, you know, especially if you're coming to their territory and asking to live there. I wouldn't translate my last name if someone refused to learn how to say it right, I'd just know they're an asshole.”

“You could always have fun with it,” the hunter noted, flashing him a smile, “introduce yourself as 'Lance Samehat.'”

To his surprise, the demon stared at him with an open mouth for a long moment, then fluttered his eyelashes rapidly and swallowed. “I don't know if it's the superhero smile or the two hundred year old meme, but I think I just fell in love with you a little.”

Shiro cleared his throat abruptly and tore his eyes away from the wide blue-in-black gaze to look back down at his hands on the table. “I um. I'm impressed you recognized it, most people have no interest in centuries old pop culture.”

“Are you kidding me, I'm a total meme culture buff!” The spade at the tip of Lance's long tail made a singular noise as it scraped back and forth over the floor tiles, and Shiro made himself focus on the sound instead of the fact that the demon was wagging away like an overexcited puppy again. “I kind of wish my last name did translate as 'Samehat,' now, though, and not just literally, 'The Same.'”

“Ironically if you started signing things as 'The Same,' a lot of people would probably pronounce it like 'theh-sah-may,' and possibly ask if you're French or something.”

Lance hugged his knees to his chest, giggling, and tipped over onto his side. One horn clunked against the tile, propping his head up at an odd angle. “I love it. And what would people call you, if they translated your last name?”

“White Metal,” Shiro found himself smiling down at the playful creature, “sounds very hair band, doesn't it?”

“It does!” The demon yelped with delight, then clamped both hands over his mouth and arched his back to peer towards the living room. Not immediately hearing Hunk, he wiggled back into place to grin up at Shiro. “So, Hair Band, I have questions about what it's like to be a hunter for HOPE.”

“Okay, Samehat, I'll try to answer them. You've taught me a lot about demons already, after all.” Shiro leaned back in his chair and stretched out his leg, gently pushing at the demon's shoulder with his foot.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM!” The sudden screech caught him off guard, as did the young man leaping neatly over Lance to slam into him and sink heavy, sharp teeth into his right shoulder.

He grabbed a fistful of black hair even as the chair tipped backwards, trying to haul the snarling set of fangs away from the join of his shoulder and torso, only to find the attacker had claws as well and had already begun to work them in alongside the impressive teeth. He howled in pain as he felt the shoulder dislocate, saw Lance above him with his arms around his assailant, and realized he was well and truly in trouble when his arm went numb from shock. He felt cold rush its way through his body, and opened his mouth to speak.

He blacked out to the muffled soundtrack of tearing fabric and Lance's screams.

 


	7. That Was Who Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro finds out who attacked him, and begins to deal with the reality of his new situation.

He knew he was in the hospital by the time he was half-conscious—he'd long since grown used to the smell of disinfectant and grief, and wondered if he'd hurt himself while seizing as he recognized the thick feeling of painkillers. He opened his eyes very slightly, letting them adjust to the fluorescent lighting and trying to remember where he'd last been or what he had been doing. He tried to sit up.

The sudden roaring pain in his right shoulder nearly put him out again, and it was still throbbing through the dilaudid being pumped into his veins. He caught his breath, reeling, and realized that someone was carefully propping pillows behind him, murmuring against his hair. Whomever it was, his drugged mind informed him that they smelled fantastic. He turned his head and felt the curve of a bicep against his cheekbone.

“--some water,” the voice against his hair finally came into focus, and he muzzily lifted his head to squint up into eyes too blue to be real, “but don't try moving on your own again, okay? You're going to be weak for a while; you lost a lot of blood and you're still in shock.”

“L...nce?” Shiro questioned quietly, squinting with each blink up at the tanned face.

“Curtis,” the man corrected gently, giving him a soft smile, “you may not remember me; we only met briefly.”

“Nn,” he dropped his eyes again, taking in the loose henley and the sharp collarbones peeking out from between the two undone buttons. He felt a faint smile drift across his face. “Curtis. Di'n' recognize you with a shirt on,” he managed lazily.

“It's a little chilly in the hospital to run around with my tits out,” Curtis gently lowered him back against the stacked pillows, minutely adjusting them as they shifted with Shiro's weight. “Did you hear what I was telling you?”

“Something about water?”

“Adam's getting you another warmed blanket and a bottle of water,” the smile stayed soft and understanding as Curtis settled into a chair by the bed, “and sandwiches for both of us. After you've hydrated a little, if you want something to eat, we can ask the nurses for something. You were on anesthesia for a while in surgery, so you might be a little queasy.”

“Surgery?” Something was coming to the surface, pulling down the lighthearted surface thoughts skimming Shiro's mind about how attractive Curtis was. He tried to ignore it, looking down at the heavy blanket and wiggling both feet.

“Your right arm is gone,” the taller man told him gently, laying a hand on his wrist, “too much damage was done to it for the doctors to reattach it.”

Teeth. One big, solid piece across the top front, sharp and screaming rage with fangs and claws and wild, jet black hair. Purple eyes and yellow sclera nearly glowing with fury. The smell of his own blood, the sound of his tank top tearing away with the wet pulp of his shoulder. Lance shrieking in the back of his memory.

He wasn't aware that he was hyperventilating until a shot's worth of water hit him in the face. He sputtered and blinked his eyes clear, looking up at Adam, who held a small cloth shopping bag and an open bottle of water. “Thanks,” he rasped, accepting the water when the Dire offered the bottle.

“I'm sorry,” Curtis told him quietly, frowning, “I didn't know how to phrase it delicately.”

Adam turned his attention to his husband, giving him a smile that made Shiro feel warm just from its periphery. “Maybe just let the nurses do it next time, yeah? Here.” He handed the shopping bag off and picked up a rolled blanket from the chair by the door, sliding the current heavy blanket off of Shiro and spreading the new one over his legs. He then laid the cool one over the top, trapping in the heat. “I haven't taken a medic's course in a while,” he told the hunter sipping at his water, “but I do remember that shock drops your body temperature, and so does blood loss.”

Feeling reassured by Adam's sense of presence and the added weight to his legs, Shiro nodded. “Thank you.” He dragged in a breath, finally turning his head to look down at his right shoulder. Even with the bandages in the way, he could tell the separation wasn't clean. He glanced up at Adam, frowning. The Dire seemed to know what he was asking, moving to sit on the arm of Curtis' chair and nodding.

“He took part of your collarbone. He thought you were attacking Lance, thought you'd knocked Hunk out. He said he saw you with your foot on Lance and Lance on his back on the floor, and he doesn't remember a lot clearly after that. He's not venomous, so you don't have to worry about that. He'll be in to apologize, if you're okay with that, at around dinner time tonight. It's just after three in the afternoon.” He reached into the bag in Curtis' hands, pulling out a sandwich wrapped in butcher paper. “Matt has him...in custody. Technically.”

“Technically?”

He didn't miss the quickly-stopped roll of Adam's eyes, or the way Curtis' brows shot upward as the Cuban looked down. “It's hard to consider him being in custody when it just means he's staying in eyesight of his boyfriend,” the Dire gave him a flash of an apologetic half-smile.

“His boyfriend?” The smell of the sandwiches was stomach-turning.

“The one who attacked you was Keith,” Curtis offered quietly, “Matt's boyfriend; Katie's foster brother.”

Shiro thought of the quiet voice he'd always heard alongside Katie's bright one; the shy, sometimes sullen tones that turned just a little more delightfully open with each phone call. He tried to reconcile that with the teeth and claws and snarling wrath that had torn off his arm. He shook his head. “What is he?”

“No one knows for certain,” Adam shrugged, “they've run all the tests a dozen times. The best they can come up with is that he's come kind of cross no one's registered before.”

“I think I'd remember any Extrahuman species with front teeth like that,” Shiro shook his head again, trying to get the image out of his mind.

“Yeah, that was a new one on his orthodontist, too,” the flippant remark earned Curtis a faint smile from both of the other two, “how's your stomach, Shiro?”

“I'm still really queasy,” the hunter admitted, “would you guys actually mind eating those out in the hall?”

“Of course,” Adam got to his feet and helped his husband stand, “we'll call Matt and let him know that you're awake.”

“Thanks.” Shiro watched the couple shuffle towards the door, then cleared his throat lightly. “Adam?”

“Yeah?” The blond turned, one hand on the small of his husband's back.

“To whom do I press charges?”

Adam looked down awkwardly, but Curtis didn't seem phased at all, leaning around the blond to give Shiro a small, matter-of-fact smile. “You don't,” he said simply, tone kind despite the finality of his words, “because no one in Dryreef will take down charges against a Holt. Sleep off the rest of the anesthesia, Takashi, okay? Are you okay with Keith coming to apologize?”

He stared for a long moment, drowning a little in the kind blue eyes and the gentle tone. He wasn't certain if it was the anesthesia or the effect Curtis in particular had on him, but he found himself giving a tiny nod. “Yeah. I guess. If he thought I'd attacked his friends, I guess I understand, to a point.” He felt the brightening of Curtis' smile in his toes, and curled them at the rush up his legs. He dropped his eyes, leaning back against his pillows in a visible sign of tiredness, and said nothing more as the two quietly left. He thought ruefully about Lance, the moment right before he'd completely awakened, when he'd seen the soft brown hair and the beautiful blue eyes and thought the demon was leaning over him. The peace that had brought him, the twinge of disappointment under the sudden rush of lust.

Lance didn't leave him feeling like a drooling, damp mess like literally everyone else he'd seen in Dryreef so far, but his chirpy voice and the rhythmic swish of his tail had been comforting. His laughter had felt like the patter of rain under Shiro's skin, but the sound of him screaming, begging Keith to stop echoed through the depths of the agent's mind.

Maybe Lance was still at Adam's house. Matt had put the number in his contacts. He looked for his phone, saw it plugged into a charger on one of the side tables, and gauged whether or not he could reach it and unplug it one-handed before leaning over to do so.

He woke up to someone much smaller than he was hefting him back onto the bed. “Lost even more blood than you already had, stupid ass,” the voice by his ear was rough, but high and feminine, and familiar enough that he breathed a little easier at the sound of it. “Hey, come hold the pillows.”

“He's not gonna wanna see me,” he knew the sullen voice, too, though it was richer and more comfortable than it had been six years ago over the phone, “I almost killed him.” He felt the pillows steady against his back as he was tucked in.

“It's not your fault that Matt didn't tell us that the bloodspiller HOPE sent was Taka,” one small hand pushed his bangs off his forehead. “Hey, jerkface, I know you're awake.”

“How many times've you said that so far, Katie?” Shiro slurred, lifting his head a little. He hissed in a breath at a particularly sharp throb from what was left of his shoulder. “Oh, fuck. Did I land on--?”

“Yeah, it hit the chair,” Matt's voice from the doorway was crisp, “you popped some stitches and lost a lot more blood. Nurses are bringing more, one of the shamans already did a little patching.” His footsteps were barely audible on the floor. “Adam said to tell you that if you wanted your phone, you could've asked before they left the room. Now it's sat in a pool of blood and is ruined.” He came close enough to be in focus, lips pursed. “Curtis said you were willing to hear out Keith's apology.”

“I think you know well enough to know that between the drugs and...whatever, I would have told Curtis just about anything,” Shiro squinted up at Matt, trying to read him. For once, it was incredibly difficult for him, which the hunter blamed on the blood loss. “And you also know me well enough to know that no matter how sorry he is, I'm not going to just let Keith off the hook for ripping off my arm.”

“I'm right here,” he heard Keith mutter from near Katie.

“You're being dramatic,” Matt snapped, settling his hands on his hips and leaning back, “if you'd walked in a room and thought someone had knocked out your friend and was in the process of killing their best friend, you wouldn't have stopped with an arm—you'd have ripped their whole damned head off with your bare hands.”

Shiro felt himself rally a little and wondered in the back of his mind if that wasn't part of Matt's plan. He was starting to remember how easily the blond toyed with his moods. He sat up a little straighter against the pillows. “So what, we should judge Keith's actions based on the potential scale of what I would have done? I seem to remember you being _dramatically_ against that. Something about he may be the Extrahuman but I'm the one who's monstrous? Did he change that much in the last six years?”

“I'm not a monster,” Keith's voice was very small, and stopped Shiro lashing out at Matt in record time.

“I—no, that—Keith--” He finally turned his attention to the brunette, who curled against Katie's side with his head down and his arms pulled in tightly over his chest. Even downcast, Shiro could tell that his eyes were a shade of violet that would have put most amethysts to shame, and his sun-darkened face was pulled into a mask of guilt and misery. “No, I--”

“Why don't we wait outside,” Katie suggested sharply, thin lips pulled tight under hazel eyes gone almost entirely citrine with fury, “until Daddy and Daddy are done fighting. C'mon, Opossum,” she ushered Keith from the room, combat boots clomping on the floor beneath tie-dye leggings.

“I didn't mean to,” Shiro heard him mumble to her on the way out.

“I know, Opossum,” she closed the door behind them firmly.

“I did not miss you goading me into that bullshit,” Shiro sighed, slumping back against the pillows.

“Keith has an enormous crush on Hunk, and he knows how protective Hunk is of Lance,” Matt pushed at the cloths on the floor soaking up Shiro's blood with the tip of his shoe, “he freaked out all the way. I'm not saying Keith should be judged based on the scale of what you would have done, I'm saying that based on what you would have done, you don't get to act like the victim here.”

“Matt, I _am_ the victim here! He ripped off my arm—and apparently tore into my collarbone—and did so much damage they can't reattach it! Lance tried to stop him, I remember that.” The realization hit him and he slumped with it a little. “Is Lance okay? Did Keith hurt him? Did he hurt Keith?”

“Lance is fine,” the blond assured him, “he only clawed up Keith a little, and he's already mostly healed. He's been worried about you—blowing up everyone's phone the whole time you were in surgery, had Hunk go right over after class to ask Katie about you.” He stepped over the blood to sit on the edge of Shiro's bed and settled a hand on his leg. The soft smile he offered almost made Shiro forget entirely about his blatant manipulation earlier. “You look like shit, you know.”

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you, Holt?” Shiro felt his face tighten in a small smile, but he kept his gaze locked on the tanned fingers on his knees. “You're doing something, aren't you,” he asked, a little breathless, “I feel like my blood's on fire.”

“I'm...no, Taka, I don't actually have powers, you know that. I'll get the nurse.” Matt nearly slipped in the blood on his way to the door, then balanced and twisted as he caught the door frame and called out to the nurse's station. When he came back in, he moved over to the half-cleaned blood pool and swiped up as much as he could before two nurses came bustling in, one of them already pulling out a healing bag. A last swipe with the towels cleared up the last of the blood as the nurses stepped to the edge of the bed. The shaman shot Matt a slightly nervous smile, then settled one palm on Shiro's forehead and closed their eyes, murmuring.

The HOPE agent sighed, giving the shaman a faint smile. “Tha's nice,” he slurred, “cool. I like you.”

“They can't hear you while they're trancing, Mister Shirogane,” the other nurse told him gently, “but I will pass that along when they come back. It looks like,” he leaned back to check the monitors, “you have a bit of an infection, and with all the blood loss it isn't really surprising that it's just trekking its way right through you. A little worrisome that there was no sign of it just a few minutes ago, but not unheard of. Now, you're a trained HOPE agent, so I'm assuming you know better than to resist a healing.”

Shiro turned a slightly dazed smile up to the nurse. “Got a good smack from my partner if I started to,” he agreed dreamily, “and he hits _hard._ ” His gaze flicked to Matt, who was quietly putting the bloody towels in the 'soiled linens' bin. “'S a Holt thing, right Matt?”

The blond responded with an uncharacteristic grunt and gave the nurse a nod, jerking his thumb to indicate that he'd wait outside. The nurse smiled and nodded back, sighing and relaxing a little himself once the door swung closed. “Your partner and his family have quite a reputation in this town, Mister Shirogane,” he informed his patient ruefully, “we're all a bit—well, tense around them, I suppose you could say. Sound of a Holt's voice can yank any healer right out of a trance, and I don't have to tell you how poorly that can go for everybody.”

Letting the words sink in instead of struggling to understand them, it took Shiro almost a minute to respond. “Why? Holts're nice.” He felt like he was perceiving the world through particularly thick gelatin, but the back of his mind noted that that was probably the blood loss, infection, and healer's magics and he should try to keep his mind as passive as possible.

“Well, there's a power to them, for all they test as human,” the nurse said, double-checking his leads and waving in a third nurse who carted a fresh tray of IV bags full of blood, “but they aren't Metahumans—no alterations done by supernatural or scientific means--”

“He's a HOPE agent, Geoffrey, he knows what a Metahuman is,” the new nurse wasted no time in setting up the blood as Shiro admired the coppery sheen to her dark hair.

“He's very low on useful blood in his brain right now, Marnie, I'm just trying to help,” the thus-named Geoffrey pursed his lips at her attitude.

“He's...helpful. 'S helpful if I don't have t',” Shiro dragged in a breath, waiting for the words to surface, “think. 'F I think I start fighting the healer.”

“I'm sure El appreciates the effort then,” Marnie's voice was like soft rain to Shiro's ears, lulling him toward sleep. He pulled himself a little more awake when Geoffrey shook his wrist.

“El does prefer to heal while their patients are awake, Mister Shirogane, so they can voice an objection if something doesn't feel right,” the nurse gave him a smile when he slowly nodded, “attaboy. So, the Holts aren't Metahumans, they aren't Extrahumans, they aren't witches or shaman or Faeborn, but there's _power_ to them. Doctor Colleen, she can grow any plant in any soil, green and lush as can be, she even gets blooms on the ones that do that, but she's got no touch to the lines of power any of the Green-thumb witches in the area tap. Doctor Samuel, he can piece together any piece of technology, even if he's never seen its like before, and make improvements, but there's not sign of any actual technomancy going on. Matt, well--” Geoffrey gave him a slightly devilish smile, and Shiro noticed that a few of his front teeth were crooked. It was charming, from his angle. “I suppose you'd know most about Matt's abilities, wouldn't you? You were his partner, after all.”

“Matt doesn't h've powers,” Shiro barely felt the words bubble up through him, “he's jus'...r'lly strong. 'N' tough. 'N'....hot. R'lly, r'lly hot. An' flexible.” He lifted his head a little, only to be gently pushed back by Geoffrey's hands. “D'you know we used t'date?”

“We heard some handsome HOPE hopeful broke his heart,” Marnie put in, glancing over her shoulder, “from a very safe distance. No one in their right mind wants to deal with a heartbroken Holt within arm's length.”

“More'n arm's length i'n't any better,” the agent hummed, tipping his head to try to get a look at her, “he almos' brained me with a lamp through our 'partmen' door. Fr'm the living room.” He gave Marnie a lopsided grin. “Was hot.”

“You got some real unhealthy tendencies there, sweetheart,” she told him tartly.

Shiro drew in a breath, mulling it over with his lips parted. “Yeah,” he eventually agreed placidly.

 


	8. Forgiveness Is A Double-Fanged Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro entertains a wide array of visitors in the hospital.

Something settled inside him; the world got a little more clear. He turned his attention to El, who was wrapping up their chanting with what he recognized as ritual words of gratitude. He added a few of his own when they were done, then gave the shaman a smile as they opened rich brown eyes. “Thank you too, gorgeous.”

“I couldn't do much through that muffle you're wrapped in,” El told him quietly, “but I've pushed back most of the infection. It'll give you time to get some antibiotics working and that blood some time to settle. No more antics.” They gently shook their finger at him, then blinked slowly and wavered on their feet.

Geoffrey put his arm out and caught them without his pleasant expression ever changing. “Marnie'll get your antibiotics going while El here rests. Don't want you worrying about them on top of everything else.” He helped the shaman shuffle towards the door, tipping his head down to listen to them tell him about the quiet around Shiro.

“Well, I guess that leaves us, doesn't it?” Marnie asked, heading for the closet and pulling out another IV bag. She waggled it at him. “They'll be a little cool. Might help bring your temperature down the rest of the way before they wipe the infection out completely.”

“I get the good shit, huh?” Shiro asked a little wryly, letting his eyes catch again on the coppery shimmer to her hair.

She gave him a look, lips pursed and one eyebrow slightly raised, and tipped her head before starting to work the bag onto another arm of the IV stand. “You showed no sign at all of infection ten minutes ago,” she told him tartly, and Shiro thought for a moment that he heard genuine worry in her voice, “Holt calls us in and you're popping a fever of a hundred and three and you're shivering like you've been locked in Hell's freezer for a week. You get the divine-level antibiotics.” She glanced up from twisting the end of the lead into the line, other eyebrow raising. “Must be some hell of a muffle around you, if that infection isn't entirely cleared out. El's got some powerful spirits behind them.”

“I only just found out about it,” Shiro admitted, “but it is in my file that I'm difficult to heal for reasons other than fighting it. Sorry I wasn't in a frame of mind to warn them.”

Marnie shrugged. “Most patients they get called in for aren't. You keep asking questions about the Holts, though, maybe don't do it to us, or anyone local. Ask the Holts themselves. They seem to like you okay, you'll probably survive it.”

“And the rest of you probably won't, if you answer?” He felt his voice drop easily into the range of gentle interrogation, and tried not to apologize. Something, the back of his mind kept insisting in a howl, wasn't right at all here in Dryreef. He mostly didn't want to admit that the Holts might be part of it, but he was starting to turn and face the possibility.

The nurse just gave him a level stare, then patted the pillows behind his back. “Call button's by your left hand, on the rail, you let us know if you feel any different, we'll pop by every ten or fifteen minutes to check on you just in case.” She lifted her head, looked towards motion across the hall window, and the smile that graced her face made Shiro wonder if his raging fever had already returned. “Are you up for another visitor? Seems someone's brought you a fruit basket.”

“I like fruits,” it took a lot of willpower not to grin at the eye roll Marnie gave him, and watched her move to the door to open it. He didn't try to focus on the brief conversation, instead letting the vaguely familiar lyrical voice from the hall wash through him. It made him feel very calm. The tall, white-haired young woman who entered with an impressively-sized basket of carved fruits gave him a faint smile as the door closed behind her, and Shiro sluggishly started to realize that something about her was off. “Allura, wasn't it?”

She tipped her head, still standing by the door a moment before stepping closer, until the depths of her pupils could clearly be seen as the swirling pink voids that had threatened him in Insada's—what, yesterday? It seemed like ages ago, like he'd been in this town for years already. “Hello, Shiro,” she greeted gently, setting the basket of fruit on the dinner tray and wheeling it over his lap, “I know you've been through a lot of anesthesia, but these are all very mild fruits that will hopefully help settle your stomach.” She took a seat in the chair by the bed, crossing her legs primly at the ankles and tucking them beneath the chair.

“I love honeydew, thanks.” Shiro gave her a smile, then reached out to carefully pluck one of the carved-melon flowers and bring it to his lips. “Are you here to kill me?”

He'd startled her, but only a little. Both eyebrows raised in her dark face before her mouth pulled into a faint smile. “No. It is not up to me to mete out punishment for any crime here, real or imagined. Besides,” she leaned back in the chair, and her perfect posture made Shiro take a moment before he recognized it as a slump, “I'm far too tired to cover it up.”

He looked her over a little more carefully. She was young, he'd already figured, around the same developmental age as Katie, perhaps a bit younger, but there were shadows beneath her rich skin, lines around the blue and pink eyes that didn't belong on so young an adult. When she pushed her hair back with one hand, she shook a few strands of hair from her fingers in the absent gesture of too much practice. “Are you sick?” He asked quietly, looking for other signs. “Is it the iron and steel in the city?”

The question earned him another small smile. “I'll be all right,” she assured him, “I'm just a tad overdrawn. The city was built with as little iron and steel as possible from the beginning, but even if it was the ruins of Old New York, it wouldn't bother me. I'm...not that kind of fae.” He heard the soft laughter in her tone even if all she could manage was a tint of self-mockery in her smile. “That allergy tends to be sub-type specific, though I suppose an organization like HOPE would generalize it in order to be cautious.”

“HOPE doesn't teach much about the fae, actually,” he felt like he was reassuring her, “except that they severed ties with the mortal realm when their wars got too bad, to avoid inflicting the kind of destruction on it that they're capable of on this side of the hedge.”

“Benevolent abandonment is a fairly typical message for the fae,” Allura agreed mildly, then flicked her eyes to the speared piece of melon in his hand, “are you still too queasy to eat?”

“Oh, no, I. I suppose I forgot I was holding it. It's been...it's been a day.” Shiro ushered the melon into his mouth and let his body get used to the taste before he slowly started to chew. Encouraged by the lack of nausea, he swallowed and selected another piece.

“Your injury was the night before last, actually,” she settled herself more firmly into the embrace of the chair and watched him through half-open eyes, “I'm afraid I don't know the exact details. Commander Iverson and the Dire have both been very upset, and Matthew said something about trying to keep HOPE from finding out until you could give them your report on the incident personally.”

“Are you here to tell me what to say?” He chewed a little more slowly, eyeing her relaxed posture with sudden wariness.

She gave him another smile. “Not at all,” one shoulder twitched upward slightly in the echo of a shrug, “I'm here to warn you.”

He waited, setting the second skewer down beside the basket and carefully choosing a third.

“I'm sure you've started to realize, being here immersed in a Sanctuary city, that not everything that HOPE has taught you has been entirely...factual.” She took in the faint facial spasm, checked his shoulder for signs of blood seepage, and continued when he stuck a piece of cantaloupe in his mouth. “Demons, for instance. Or perhaps the idea that folk living in Sanctuaries are frightened of or angry with the outside world as a whole. Or that all the fae have remained on the other side of the hedge.”

“Is this where you tell me that they lied to us deliberately, and that the whole organization is evil and wants to burn all Extrahumans from the face of the planet?” He kept his tone patient as he lined the third skewer up with the first two and waited to see how his stomach handled the small amount of food.

“Or course not,” she tipped her head, still looking half-asleep in the chair, though her voice was entirely alert, “HOPE has been around for almost two hundred years at this point; surely even such an organization has to have experienced something of a change of heart in all that time.” She stood, brushing her hands over the skirt of her dress, and Shiro thought he saw the pale fabric shimmer slightly as it moved. “Just be careful what you report, Mister Shirogane. You have suffered quite enough already as it is, even to an angry fae like myself.” She held her hair back with one hand and bent to place a cool kiss on his hair line; he watched her drop a few more strands of hair without seeming to notice the motion. “I wish you swift healing, traveler,” the words felt like some kind of ancient blessing he'd never been taught, but the response bubbled up in him before he could stop it.

“May your home always be safe, Lady.” He felt the sadness in her smile like a stone in the pit of his stomach, but she was gone before he could ask her what it meant.

He only had a few minutes to mull over her mysterious visit before a head topped with tousled sandy-blond hair peered around the door frame. “Hey, Taka, you willing to hear out Opossum's apology?”

He tried to straighten up a little and dragged in a breath as quietly as he could, instantly regretting the motion. “Of course, Katie, come on in, both of you. Keith,” he offered the young man as the brunette slunk in, arms crossed over his chest, “I'm sorry for what I said earlier, I wasn't thinking about how you would hear it. Sometimes I get so caught up in fighting with Matt and I forget that other people can hear us, too.”

“S'okay,” the young man mumbled, shoulders coming up a little higher, “you'd uhm. You'd lost a lot of blood and—I. I'm so sorry, Shiro, I didn't know that was you.” Violet eyes tried to lift, fell beneath the weight of Keith's crushing guilt, and fluttered in an attempt to prevent the tears Shiro saw glistening there from escaping. “Matt told us there was a bloodspiller in town, sent after Lance, and when I texted Hunk he was really keyed up about it and then he told me about this meeting at Adam's and how you were going to be alone with Lance and Hunk said he wouldn't let that happen and I thought--”

“Hey,” he kept his voice gentle, and held out his left hand, gesturing for Keith to come around the bed, “Matt's not wrong when he says that in your situation, I'd have gone for the head, and it's not like we don't all know that your panic go-to is to shove things in your mouth and chew them up. But remember what I told you, back when Matt and I were cadets?”

“Be patient instead of panicking, and you can focus on what's really happening instead of immediately seeing what you fear,” Keith mumbled, crossing the room to let Shiro pat his side gently. “I told you, I'm not good at that.”

“I didn't used to be, either,” the agent told him gently, and was finally rewarded by the upward snap of purple eyes meeting his, “it takes practice. But you know there have to be consequences for this, right? Matt and Adam can't just let you go around getting away with partially dismembering and eating people.”

Keith's head raised a little higher, indignantly. “I didn't eat any of you!” He objected, then slumped a little again. “I'm...pretty sure, anyway.” He shuffled a little closer, eyes dropping to the tray across Shiro's lap. “What's HOPE going to do to me?” He asked quietly, brows pulling into a concerned furrow. “Am I going to jail? Are they going to kill me?”

“You aren't going to be killed for assaulting someone in a fit of protective rage, Keith, no matter how gruesome the attack may have been,” he saw the bridge of Keith's nose wrinkle a little at the word 'gruesome,' and recognized the faint hitch of a giggle immediately buried in his throat, “but you'll probably be arrested, yes. Certainly they're going to want to put you in some pretty intense therapy before they want to see you out and around people again.”

“Because I'm dangerous,” the younger man said miserably.

“Everyone's dangerous,” Shiro reminded him patiently, “but you've proven that you don't have enough self-control to mitigate that yet, and that does need to be addressed. Okay?” He took in the slow, sullen nod, and patted him on the side again. “You have gotten an absurd percentage taller since the last time I saw you in a video call. And filled out a lot.”

Startled by the sudden topic change, Keith blinked at him for a moment, then pulled his face back into an even more intense pout. “I'm still a twink,” he informed Shiro firmly, the jut of his chin daring the older man to contradict him.

Shiro lifted his hand and didn't even try to stop the wide smile that sprang to his face. “I believe you.”

“You're a twunk,” Katie corrected from where she'd curled up with her combat boots underneath her in the chair, “everyone says so.” She didn't even look up from where she was carefully straightening out the pleats of the too-short army-green skirt over her bright leggings. “But you know what? You should be totally okay with it.”

“Why in the hell would I ever be okay with that?!” Keith demanded, straightening up even further in the face of his best friend's baiting contradiction.

“Because 'twunk' is closer to 'hunk.'” She pulled a stray white hair from her sleeve and observed it a moment, then pulled a tiny bag from her boot and placed the hair inside.

The young man made an incoherent gurgling noise. “That isn't—you can't—I hate it when you make puns on his name.” The last part came out almost a whine, but Keith clearly heard himself and flashed her a self-mocking grin.

“There's a lot more of those on the floor, there,” Shiro told Katie quietly, tipping his head and trying not to grin at the eager way the blond dove to the tile. “So, Keith, tell me a little about this guy you're absolutely willing to kill me over.”

“Wh—that's not—it isn't— _Shiro!_ ” Keith flopped himself dramatically into the slightly-bloodstained chair with a pout. “Hunk is nice.” He finally grumbled quietly. “He's...he's nice and he's gentle and he's smart and funny and he laughs at my jokes, and he's totally willing to wade into a fistfight to pull people apart, and strong enough to pick me up in one hand.” He stopped for a moment, contemplating that last statement with a little huff. “And he's straight.”

Shiro felt his eyebrows lift. “Ah. My condolences.”

The purple-eyed man started to scowl again, then relaxed at the genuine sympathy on Shiro's face and blew a lock of hair from his eyes. “Thanks.” He waited a moment, then rolled his eyes. “I know that it's stupid and like, weird, to be offered that when all I did was get a crush on a guy. But thanks.”

“An _unobtainable_ guy,” the wounded man corrected gently, “which can be heartbreaking every time you get so much as a whiff of him, or almost hear his name. The condolences aren't about him not reciprocating, Keith—they're about that feeling you have every time you get reminded that they won't be.”

Keith's gaze dropped again, and he sighed. “I don't know how you can be so...so nice to me after what I did.” He mumbled.

“I'm not going to tell you that I'm not mad about the arm, because I am mad, but I also know that you tend to bite or shove things into your mouth when startled or angry, and you were scared that I'd hurt the guy you like and thought that I was hurting his best friend. I'm not going to say that you don't deserve consequences, because you do, and ripping off someone's arm is the sort of thing that is going to heavily affect your reputation from here on out. But I've known you—at least over the phone—since you were fourteen. That plays a huge part in how I'm reacting to this. If I was a stranger, I'd be a lot more pissed off. Okay?”

Keith's nod was slow and a little reluctant. “Okay.”

“Now, I know Katie's found a good dozen of Allura's hairs by now and will want to analyze them, and I need to rest, so how about you two go on to do that, and I'll get some rest so I can heal up, okay?” Shiro wiggled his fingers at the young man, who immediately stood. “Maybe stay at home with her for a while to regain some calm.”

“Okay. Sorry, Shiro.” Keith touched the back of his hand and rounded the bed to look down at Katie. “Pigeon, we're leaving.”

“Huh? Oh, right, yeah.” She stood up and brushed off her top, the embroidered gerbera daisies on the front pulling oddly against the white fabric. “Get good rest, Taka.”

“I'll do my best,” he promised gently, and watched them go, Keith following along behind Katie and listening to her theorizing about what she'd find on Allura's hairs with the air of someone who had no idea what was meant but enjoyed the enthusiasm with which it was spoken.

 


	9. Oh No Monster Girls Are Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's starting to realize that he shouldn't have taken this job, and reveals a secret of his own to Gary and Allura.

He was going mad in the hospital, mostly-healed and consistently visited by Marnie, by the beautiful round-bodied El, by Geoffrey's unflappable cheer. Keith and Katie were regulars, Lance's friend Hunk even came by with a present from the demon, a lovely piece of quartz from the ruins that Shiro tucked into his pocket as he pulled on the clothes that Matt had brought to the hospital. The shirt was a snap-up from one of the local thrift stores, right sleeve pinned and two sizes too big so it wouldn't put too much pressure on his bandages. He leaned on the counter at the nurse's station as Geoffrey logged him out, trying not to leer at the peek of collarbone the angle gave him.

“I gotta say, Shiro,” the nurse said mildly, glancing up from his screen, “you've been behaving yourself a whole lot better than most of our out-of-town patients. I've usually gotten at least one grab at my ass by day two. You've been here almost two weeks and managed to keep your hands all to yourself.”

It startled him, that casual admittance of the way the townspeople affected outsiders, the faint smile Geoffrey gave him. “I...It's been a little difficult, I'll admit. But I like to think I have more self-control than that. How do you deal with it? I'd imagine you get quite a few outsiders in here.”

“It is what it is,” Geoffrey kept giving him that same smile, “but I know Marnie wouldn't have minded if you'd played a little grab-ass with her. You're pretty good-looking, and very sweet.”

“I'm good at pretending, at least.” Shiro gave him a winning smile and tipped his head. “Would you have minded?”

“I'm married, straight, and very monogamous, but I would have been flattered.” The nurse hit print and rolled in his chair to grab the papers as they emerged, neatly stacking them, stapling them together, and offering them up. The last two he sorted out, stapled separately, and set slightly off to the side of the first stack. “These need to be signed, I'll witness them, and you can be on your way.”

“Guess I should keep making an effort to learn how to write left-handed, huh?” Shiro asked jokingly, pinning the papers in place with his wristband as he worked the pen in an approximation of his signature. “Stuck with it now.”

“Unless you make a deal with someone who can grow you a new arm,” the joke rang with the air of someone who only felt comfortable making it knowing such a thing was impossible.

“Yeah, while I'm at it, I could ask them to do something about the rest of it, too, right?” Shiro gave him a smile and pushed the signed paper back across the counter, straightening up. He caught sight of Iverson by the doors, leaning against the wall and thumbing through what may have been an old copy of _Today's Bride_. “Looks like my ride's here. No offense, Geoffrey, but I hope I don't see you again.”

“Right back at you,” the nurse told him, amused.

He watched the way Iverson's shoulders relaxed a little further when he got within arm's length, and made a mental note about radius of his 'bubble' while the officer closed the magazine—the October issue, Shiro noted, with an article entitled ' _Tasteful Tips on Emulating the Undead on your Special Day,_ '--and tossed it back on the nearby table. “You know we have Lyft, Swyft, Uber, and Myride all perfectly available in this town,” Gary groused.

“You know I dropped my phone in a puddle of blood and Sperizon doesn't do house calls,” Shiro asked him right back, feeling the smile pull across his face. “Besides, isn't the quiet worth it?”

Gary gave him a long, unreadable look, then grunted and straightened up. “Matt said you were practically ready to cut him up for a steak.”

“Yeah, but I'd also like to go to Insada's,” he managed to keep his voice casual, “I liked the ambiance there.”

“Allura's not working today.”

“Anywhere that serves steak is fine. Was it that obvious?”

“She visited you here, it can leave an impression.” Gary tipped his head, and they walked towards the exit. Shiro had to keep himself from bolting for the doors in search of fresh air.

He felt like he walked face first into a wall of hot glass, and looked around. They were still safely under the carport, in the shade. He squinted up at Gary, whose face was nearly unrecognizable in the heat-shimmering air. “What the hell.”

He thought he saw the big man's shoulders lift. “We're having a heatwave for the first time since the...mn. Unmasking. Wait just inside; I'll get the car.” He turned and headed out into the blinding sunshine; Shiro wondered if he didn't hear a faint sucking sound as the soles of the commander's shoes began to melt and stick to the asphalt.

He stepped back to the cool side of the automatic doors and waited for Iverson to pull around; he caught sight of a flurry of motion out of the corner of his eye and turned. “She said we're supposed to leave her be!” He overheard a young, slight woman in the uniform of local EMS telling a much larger woman with navy and pink hair in a dramatic undercut. He sidled closer out of curiosity.

“So what, we should just let her wither away on this side of the hedge?” He was glad he'd approached; he'd never have heard the larger woman's hissed demand from the doors. “She needs to cross back!”

“She swore she'd never go back and you _know_ why! Anyway, it would be revealing ourselves to her and we've been ordered—can I help you, sir?” The smaller of the two wheeled to face him, narrow face a study in fake smiles.

“I was just wondering if I could help,” he offered, spreading his hand, “Allura and I have a positive set of interactions between us,” he eyed the way they both leaned back without batting a lash, “and if she's sick and needs someone to bully her into taking care of herself, I am a big brother and also, I don't work for whoever ordered you not to see her, so it keeps you out of it.” He waited while the two women exchanged a look, then gently offered them a smile. “Just need to know an address.”

“Are you asking us to tell you where to go?” The smaller one giggled, brilliant aqua eyes flashing under a slight flutter of strawberry-blonde lashes. Behind her, the bigger woman was already writing something on a notepad. She tore it off and handed it to him entirely over the blonde's head.

“You never saw us,” the big woman informed him.

He glanced at the paper, tore it to shreds between his fingers and teeth, and dropped the pieces in a nearby bin. “Never saw whom?” He turned and walked back to the door, hearing the two women return to speaking as he tried not to jostle himself getting through the brightly-burning hellscape to Gary's passenger door. He kept enough presence of mind to use his shirt to muffle the feeling of hot metal on his fingers as he opened the door, then slid in and began the labor of buckling up with his left hand. “Hey, do you mind if we make a stop on the way to lunch?”

“Depends on how long you want to stop,” Iverson offered, patiently waiting for Shiro to complete the suddenly-complicated ritual of his seat belt, “I do have a life, you know.”

“I want to check on Allura. I'm worried she might not be okay.”

He endured the thoughtful side-eye and the slow inhale, ready to offer the address. The belt clicked; he tried not to bask in his small victory, and looked up to meet Iverson's dark hazel eyes. “All right.” The officer agreed quietly, turning his attention back to the windshield and easing the car into motion. “She's tight-lipped about her location--” He glanced sideways as Shiro leaned forward to type the address he'd been given into the GPS. “Huh. All right.”

“Are you worried about her?”

“How do you know we should be?”

“Is it like her to miss work?”

“Not for five days in a row.”

Shiro felt himself drag in a breath. “Is that why you aren't arguing?”

“I figure you got the address from her watchers. If they're worried, we should be.”

He sat back and eyed the driver curiously. “Is there anything that's a secret in this town that's actually secret?”

“Not really. She doesn't know about them, if that helps. We don't actually know a lot, just that they watch her and make sure she's all right. They're some kind of military, maybe. Probably fae, probably whatever court survived the war, but whoever they are, they have an interest in keeping her healthy. The little one's a lot stronger than she looks.”

Shiro looked him over curiously. “What...what can you hear from them? I'm sorry—I don't know a polite way to ask about telepathy.”

“That way's fine. Mostly with fae or faeborn I get colors and static. The big one thinks about the little one a lot, and blood. Could be related to their job. The little one's full of fear. It's kind of a...grey-green color.” He dragged in a breath, making a left turn. “I've never described that to anyone before.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro watched him for a long moment, then gave him a little smirk. “Hey, about me not being around long enough--”

“Don't push your luck.” But the sideways look Iverson shot him was lightened by the touch of a smile beneath it. “You have the aesthetics, I'll give you that. But I'm good. You're...complicated, and I'm good.”

“Yeah, all right. That's fair. You're friends with Matt, right. I guess that'd be awkward.”

“That, too. Besides, if you're that thirsty, I'm sure Allura will be willing to give you a bottle of water.” He pulled up in front of a plain-looking apartment building and tipped his head to the now-cackling agent in the seat beside him. “It wasn't that funny.”

“It's just—you don't come off as the kind of person who makes jokes like that.”

“I'm in the military, my two best friends are a gay werewolf and a gay government agent, and one of them is married to the world's biggest bisexual disaster—and yes, I'm including you. What part of that doesn't indicate a decent sense of humor?” Gary indicated Shiro's seat belt buckle, popping it free when the other man nodded. “Or an indecent one.”

“You just...you come off very deadpan, I guess I figured--” The HOPE agent reached for the door, wondering if he was drowning in embarrassment or glee.

“Ain't a one of us good at playing the straight man,” Gary gave him a shrug and another small smile, “not even in the comedic sense.” He let out a huff and turned off the car, pushing himself out into the hot day and coming around the car to hold the door steady while Shiro levered himself free. “Which floor?”

“Three.” Shiro squinted up at the apartments and sighed. “I guess it was too much to hope they'd have an elevator?”

“It's only accessible by resident's key-card,” the officer gave him a shrug, “city council's been on them half a dozen times about making it open—no chair-bound person should have to ask an office full of able-bodied assholes for the ability to get to the apartment they pay for—but somehow everything always gets tied up in court and lost in the shuffle. Down in building 'C,' there's a dryad who can't get them to give her a timely 'heads-up' on when a first-floor apartment opens up, and a few human residents who've tried to have her tree cut down because 'it blocks the view.' One guy even tried taking an electric chainsaw to it himself one night. She's got a scar looks about what you'd expect from that, and you know how dryads are about bikini season.”

“He's in prison, I take it?” Shiro felt brittle asking the question, could see in his mind's eye the kind of ridged, thick scar would come from a _chainsaw_ of all things, and felt his hand curling into a fist.

“As soon as he got out of the traction Matt put him in.”

Well, that blew the anger away in a gust of surprise. “ _Matt_ put him in traction?”

“It was Matt or Adam. This way, guy lived to get a trial.”

“I think I might like to know what would have happened if it had been Adam,” Shiro muttered, heading up the stairs in front of Gary at the bigger man's indication.

“Yeah, you and everyone else. No one really knows what happens if the Dire decides he's the one to mete out justice. No, not even me. But yeah,” he heard Gary drag in a breath, “guy went to prison. Turned up tilled into a little shade vegetable garden two weeks into a six-month sentence.”

Shiro wheeled, balance tipping dangerously from his missing limb, and hardly noticed when Iverson caught him in one solid arm. “Six month--!”

“I know,” Gary's voice was surprisingly soothing in his ear as he helped him regain his balance, “case popped over to Firebird on an appeal—the lawyer argued that assault on an Extrahuman would be treated differently in the biggest Sanctuary city in North America, so the judge sent it over to Firebird. Got plead down to a misdemeanor assault, six months in jail, not even a restraining order.” He carefully released Shiro as he felt the agent straighten up. “So yeah, not a lot of tears shed here when they found his teeth in an ear of prison corn.”

“Is she okay?” Shiro carefully turned and continued on up the stairs. “I mean, obviously not, it takes decades for dryad scars to grow over and they love showing skin, but--”

“Nice young woman with a love for nature and a particular taste in blondes moved in the guy's place, right beneath hers. They're doing all right.” Gary glanced upward, sighing. “I'm going to wallow in self-pity every time I drive by here, though, come spring.”

“Dryads bad at that?”

“They're tree spirits. It's spring. You do know what pollen is, right?”

“Fair enough.” Shiro caught his breath, glancing at the doors on either side of the platform. “This one on the right. Losing an arm is way more exhausting than it seems. Like, I lost a bunch of weight I was carrying around, right? Moving should be easier.”

“You also lost a lot of blood, and your balance.” Iverson headed towards the indicated door, holding a hand up to Shiro to make sure he waited while he caught his breath. He leaned in towards the door, face pulling into an ever-growing frown. “Something isn't right. Can you pick a lock?”

“Not one-handed.” Shiro spread his fingers.

“Apologies to her it is, then.” Without further warning, the big man leaned back and slammed his heel into the door, further in than the deadbolt secured. The metal storm door dented; Gary waited a moment, then swore. “She's not conscious.”

Shiro pulled himself a little more upright, feeling a low rumble in his chest. “Move.”

“What are you going to--”

Something of what he felt surging up inside of him must have shown on his face, because Iverson scrambled back and left the door clear. Shiro's vision blurred, split. He saw the door through too many eyes wide-set on too many heads, felt a the growl echo in a dozen throats, the sandpapery feeling of the platform on heavy, bare paw-pads and scraping beneath thick claws. He felt a limb beneath his blunted shoulder, scraped it against the planks of the platform, and surged forward.

The door didn't stand a chance. He felt one of his heads clip the splintered edge of the door frame and didn't taste blood but felt the pain instead fill him with strength. He skidded to a stop on an area rug, and came back to focus on Iverson gently patting his face at the top of the outside stairs. He blinked a few times, disoriented by one head/two eyes, then turned his face briefly against Gary's palm and nodded. “Go check on her,” he rasped. His throat was dry; he felt like he'd been howling.

Iverson easily scooped him up and carried him in to set him down just inside the front door without asking. The cool air formed a kind of wall up against the blistering heat that helped him focus. He gathered his thoughts as Iverson moved into the kitchen, brought him a bottle of water from the fridge, then headed towards the back of the apartment.

Halfway through the water, he heard Gary's quiet swearing. “She okay?” He asked blearily, pushing himself up onto his knees. “What happened, what's wrong?”

Iverson looked green as he exited the back room—presumably Allura's bedroom—and breathed rhythmically through his nose. “I think,” he said, sounding a little choked, “she's losing control of her glamour. I've never seen a fae without one before.” He caught Shiro's arm as the smaller man started to lurch past him. “Don't,” he said quietly, “I've known her for years and I can't— _she has eyeballs in her cheeks._ ”

Shiro shook him off gently. “Go get a couple more bottles of water,” he said quietly, “and I promise I won't tell her you almost threw up.” He patted the big man's shoulder on his way by, and whispered an apology to Allura as he crossed the threshold into her bedroom.

She lay sprawled inelegantly across the bed, white hair looking less like the intense mass of curls and starlight he was used to and more like the crown on a fancy bird, white at the roots bleeding to a blue that matched the faintly-glowing 'v' shaped marks on her cheeks. One of them opened as he approached, and he felt himself regarded solemnly by that eldritch blue gaze. Her face was longer, sharper, he could see her teeth behind the too-thin veil of her lips, sharp and menacing, and she looked far more spindly and less muscular than he remembered of her. In height, she may have been just shy of Lance's chin; eight feet and some change, and he sat down carefully beside her on the coverlet. Every patch of bare skin—and it was not a particularly modest nightgown—showed clumps of hard, shimmering scales or spines that gleamed with a wetness he was automatically wary of.

He dragged in a breath. Didn't even realize he'd let it out in a hoarse whisper of 'beautiful.'

The set of eyes he was used to seeing fluttered open at his touch, and he carefully levered her upright, setting his half-drunk bottle of water to her lips and verbally coaxing her to swallow. He felt her start to turn her head. “Easy, Allura, you've got spines and my throat's right there.”

“Shiro?” The rapid blinking of both sets of eyes almost sounded like the flutter of insect wings, and the HOPE agent let out another slow breath. “No—my glamour—”

“It's all right,” he told her gently, “I promise I don't think any less of you now than I did in the hospital. But you know, two sets of eyes opens the opportunity for two sets of eye bags, and I noticed you didn't hesitate to add to your luggage, there.”

He grinned when he felt her long fingers come down lightly against his leg. “Dick,” she breathed, but she was laughing, “what are you even doing here?”

“I had a feeling, Gary was nice enough to drive me here. Turns out that wasn't a bad idea. Now,” he leaned back a little to look down at her, “what in the blue-titted _fuck_ makes a fae princess so damned sick she can't hold her own glamour? And where's your shine?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then levered herself upright and took another swig from the water bottle. “Mostly used up,” she admitted, “I thought I'd be able to hold it longer than this, but I suppose I wasn't at full strength when I started, and it isn't like I was able to ring my attendant to this side of the hedge without the gap entirely closing so I've been going about this all on my own and I don't know how much you know about fae royalty, Shiro, but I think by what you can see, you can tell we aren't really built for taking care of ourselves any more.” She spread long, delicate-looking hands and gestured down at herself.

“Allura,” he spoke her name gently and waited for both sets of eyes to focus on him, “what have you been going about all on your own?”

“Keeping Dryreef from falling apart,” she said it like he should have known, “Shiro...the springs beneath this town are poisoned.”

 


	10. Those Don't Belong In Arizona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro discovers some of what the poison is doing to the people of Dryreef.

His mind immediately flew to Lance, stuck in the middle of nowhere in a crumbling estate that only had water from a nearby well, pulling up poisoned water from the local aquifer. He barely felt Allura's coverlet crease beneath his hand, thought for a moment he might faint from the blood rushing in his ears, but snapped back in to focus when Allura leaned away from him. The look she was giving him carried more fear than he would have liked, and he realized the sound he'd been hearing wasn't the thundering of his own heartbeat, but a low, rolling growl colliding with the walls of the fae's bedroom.

He pulled back and swallowed, looking up as Gary hesitantly came in with two bottles of water from the fridge, and opened one for Allura. The big man couldn't look at her as she accepted it, but he didn't immediately vomit or flee, so Shiro counted it as a win. “What do you mean 'poisoned,' princess?”

She raised long, dark fingers to one of the clumps of scales on her arm. They shimmered soft pink in the low light. “These aren't...mine,” she said carefully, looking down, “I'm. These have been showing up on the citizens of Dryreef for decades, since just after the last time the government treated the water in the aquifer. I've been hiding them with glamour, trying to keep everyone calm and believing that everyone's...unchanged. But Dryreef's the biggest Sanctuary city in North America, it pulls in a massive population of Extrahumans every year, and the strain of maintaining so much glamour--”

“The power requirements for that have to have been enormous,” Shiro breathed, automatically reaching his hand out to her, half in support and half in awe, as if to touch the sunrise, “how have you managed it this long?”

“It wasn't so hard at first,” she admitted, “the population was small enough, only about fifty thousand, and the manifestations of...whatever this is, were understated. A clump of scales here, a stray gill there, even the spines were easy enough to keep under control. But then peoples' legs started fusing together.”

“I'm sorry, what?”

“I can cover a lot, but trying to make an increasing number of people only see non-functional legs and not what was starting to turn into fins--”

“That explains the uptick in wheelchair users,” Gary muttered. He may not have meant it to be humorous, but it brought a smile to Allura's tired face.

“So you're telling me that someone, after the government cleansed the aquifer of lingering radiation and contaminants from the last war to make it safe for everyone to drink from, poisoned it with something that's turning a town full of people in the middle of Arizona into some kind of _merfolk?_ ” Shiro let out a breath and sat back, then looked up at Gary. “Let me borrow your phone. I need to call Matt.”

“Why?”

“Because somehow he paid for ever-burning enchanted candles with siren's blood, and I'd like to fucking well know where he got it.” He took Gary's phone, then immediately dropped it to the bed and reached out to Allura when she swayed. “No, shit, that can wait. You need...you need food, and rest, and...Allura, you need to drop the glamour.”

The look she gave him made his heart hurt. “I _can't_ , Shiro. Do you know how scared they'd be? All of them? The people of Dryreef may answer to the Dire as their Guardian, but I'm the last fae royal in this region. I'm the only one that can help keep them from being afraid of whatever's causing this transformation.”

“Allura, it's killing you,” Iverson objected quietly.

“Then I die protecting my people.”

Shiro felt his missing shoulder try to roll. It hurt, but it also helped him shake off the soft plea in her voice. “And when you die, princess? How afraid will they be then? They'll see everything that's happened to them, _and_ they'll be without you. Allura, use your head. You can't maintain an exponentially-increasing glamour, no one can. I'm seriously shocked you've managed this long. Gary, can you see what you can find for her in the way of food?”

“Yeah, of course.” Iverson nodded swiftly and headed for the door, then paused in the passageway with his head tilted down. “I'm...sorry, princess.”

“Wait, why is he sorry?” She turned to Shiro in abject mystification.

“He's a little freaked out,” the HOPE agent told her gently, “he doesn't really want you to see him as proof that the people of Dryreef would fly into a total panic when the rest of the glamour fails. Or think that it means he's not fond of you.”

Strange, that so thinly-stretched a face could convey bemusement so readily. “He's fond of me?”

“Well, who isn't? I'll admit, it's a total assumption on my part, but he did try to kick down your door when he realized you were unconscious.” Shiro tucked his water bottle between his knees and offered her his hand, smiling faintly when she took it. “Do you have a place to rest on the other side of the hedge?”

She drew up, but didn't release his hand. “I was imprisoned there for ten thousand years, Shiro. I won't go back.”

“Right, well. Was your attendant imprisoned with you?”

“Coran? Yes, of course--”

“And they're still there?”

“If he came through to this side the gate would close--”

“So you've left him imprisoned there still, left him what, totally alone, to worry about what horrible things might be happening to you out here, and you refuse to go back so he's going to be stuck like that for the rest of eternity? If you die from this, would anyone even know where to go to tell him you'd gone?” He brought her hand to his cheek, mindful of the spine jutting from one side of her wrist. “You need rest, Allura, and fae rest better on the other side of the hedge, right?”

“I just need a boost, that's all,” she insisted, but she wouldn't meet his gaze any more, “I'll be fine.”

“As someone who has been doing it since I was nine years old, princess, let me be the first to inform you that it's pretty clear that you're dying.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles to silence her objection. “You have used up all of your alarmingly impressive reserves, you have clearly been drawing directly on your own life force, and a city-wide glamour is too big for you to be able to recover enough energy to make up for what you've been spending.”

“Shiro--”

“At least help me try to find another fae—a royal or two, or half a dozen—who can take over minding the spell for a while so that you can recover. Please.” He settled his cheek into her palm when she flattened out her hand to cup it, and accepted her silent, small nod. “Now, who would best know how to find other fae royalty?”

He knew her answer by the grimace that graced her long features before she gave it voice. “Coran...”

“Fantastic. I've always wanted to cross the hedge.”

“Shiro, you can't, you're human. You'd lose track of time, or get hit by undeniable hunger, or--” She waved a hand, clearly overwhelmed by the number of things that might go poorly for him on the other side. “You'd be lost forever.”

“Guess I need someone to look out for me, then.” He watched her transition from indignation, to outrage, to amusement, and finally, to acceptance. He kissed her palm, felt her fingers curl around the side of his cheek, and let out a shaky breath. “So, out of curiosity, how much desire is tied up in your glamour spells?”

She ghosted a thumb over the side of his cheek, looking him over quietly. “Well, for one, I'm not wearing my glamour right now, so in theory this is all you, and secondly, as little as I can possibly manage. It's taxing enough holding a glamour over an entire city, the last thing I need is everyone throwing themselves at each other willy-nilly while I try to keep it functioning.” Her eyes were starting to droop again; the hand in his grasp was lax.

“Is it possible the poison is—hey hey, Allura, stay with me, come on.” He gave her a quick once over, then swore and untucked the coverlet, wrapping her in the thick folds and leaning her against his good shoulder, holding her carefully as he stood and made his way to the living room, where he set her down on the couch a little harder than intended. “Gary, how are we on the food situation?”

“I don't think she's been shopping in a while, so I ordered an Insect Special from the pizza place just up the road,” Iverson checked the GPS on his phone, “should be here in five.”

Shiro felt like a record got scratched in his brain. “Fae eat insects?”

“I don't know about all fae, but Allura does, yeah. Insects and plant products only. Almost any kind of animal byproduct can make her pretty sick. The guy I spoke to said they're used to delivering to here, so I figure that cuts down on the risk of her taking a dramatic turn for the worst from a food allergy. In the meantime, I found these.” He brought over a back of some kind of beetle that looked like it had been candied. “It might help get her blood sugar up.”

“Yeah, all right,” Shiro accepted the bag and reached in, pulling out a beetle and pressing it against Allura's lips. “Come on, princess, do me a favor, yeah? Please.” He stroked Allura's face with his thumb, encouraging the fae to open her mouth, and slid the candied insect onto her tongue.

She slowly closed her mouth, crunching into the treat, then began to chew with a little more enthusiasm. She swallowed, and he fed her another one. Gary moved the broken door to pay for the pizza, and Shiro kept dutifully feeding Allura candied beetles until the Garrison officer slid a plate full of carefully cut bite-size pieces of pizza into his lap. He traded back the bag of sugary treats and continued feeding her until she turned her head away, sighed, and fell into a more natural rhythm of breath.

The HOPE agent stood to let her rest, carrying the plate back into the kitchen. “She needs more than a half-decent meal and fussing,” he told the bigger man quietly, “I don't suppose you know where I can find the gate in the hedge she doesn't want to go back through.”

The look Gary shot him made him feel defensive, but the hazel eyes dropped before they could start arguing. “I don't,” the officer admitted slowly, “but the Holts might know how to get in touch with a fae broker who can help.” Iverson kept his attention on putting the pizza into storage containers, refusing to look up at the strangled noise Shiro made.

“That's...that's a lot to unpack.” The smaller man turned his attention back to the dozing bundle on the couch, then shook his head. “Yeah, all right. I was going to call Matt anyway.”

“Katie.”

If he'd snapped his head around any harder, he would have broken his neck for certain, Shiro was sure. “ _Katie_ knows fae? Besides Allura?”

“It's a long story, and not mine to tell. I doubt I even know half of it.” Gary lifted his hands, then smirked, looking much more like he was feeling himself. “Good luck calling anyone when my phone is wrapped up in there with the toxin-spined fae.”

Shiro slumped a little, then raised a finger. “You don't need a phone.”

The look Gary gave him could have stripped paint. “Do I _look_ like the kind of idiot that wants to come into direct contact with Matt Holt's brain if I can help it? You wrapped my phone up with the princess, _you_ retrieve it.”

“What about Katie?”

“She has asked me not to.”

“Delicately unwrapping Allura it is.” Shiro sighed, eyeing the peacefully-sleeping fae reluctantly before shuffling forward to carefully begin peeling back the coverlet. He huffed when Gary's phone smacked him in the nose.

“Or you could just ask me to find it in here,” the blonde said drowsily, “didn't mean to hit you in the face, sorry. You're a bit blurry right now.” She scowled when Shiro pressed an open water bottle in her hands. “I'm not thirsty,” she grumbled, trying to push it back at him.

“I didn't ask if you were, Highness,” he gently guided it to her mouth and helped her drink without spilling it all over herself, “thank you for giving back Gary's phone, I'm sorry I wrapped it up in there with you. I'll admit, I may have panicked a little when you passed out.”

“I did not,” she said, voice sounding a little more crisp, “ _pass out._ I...temporarily relinquished my grasp on—I didn't _entirely_ pass out.” She gripped the edges of the coverlet and pulled it tightly around herself again. “Thank you for the pizza, Commander Iverson.”

“Of course, princess.” Gary inclined his head, then bent and scooped up his phone. “I'll call Katie and set up a place to meet.” He practically scurried into the back.

Allura's mildly distorted face pulled into a vague smile. “He is very, very uncomfortable.”

“I told you, he's been worried about you, and the whole...lack of glamour thing threw him for a loop. Then you blacked out again—sorry, temporarily relinquished, whatever—and he's the kind of guy who isn't used to feeling helpless. I gotta admit, I'm not a big fan, either.” He rested his hand over hers, moving as if to take it and press it to his cheek again, but she pulled carefully free with a shiver and tucked it back into the blanket. “You've taken a chill?”

He saw her grind her teeth and nod. “I know I'm not cold,” she admitted.

“It's the shock,” he told her quietly, reaching out to tuck the corners of the coverlet between her shoulders and the couch, “your body is shutting down. Can you walk? I'd like to get you into Gary's car so we can get you where you need to be to get better as quickly as we can.” He watched her start to unfold, then pull hard back into her blanket and shudder. “Okay. We'll carry you, it's all right.” He slid next to her on the couch, pulling her half into his lap and pressing his cheek to what her hair had become. It felt cool and almost leathery to the touch.

She settled into the curve of his arm as well as she could, resting her head on his shoulder. “I trust you,” she said quietly, “even that first moment, in the restaurant, even though I was angry.”

“Terrible idea, really,” he felt his smile pull against the grain of a cluster of scales in her 'hair,' and shivered at the scrape on his lip. “Okay, princess,” he grunted as he stood, concerned at how light she was against his shoulder as he realized—now that he wasn't panicking—how much of the weight on his forearm was blanket, “let's get you to the car.”

He was almost to the door when he heard her giggle in his ear. “Are you really going to what, get me out to the car in one-tennish heat and buckle me in without being able to turn on the air conditioning? If you're trying to bake me, Shiro, it might be faster to break my bones and put me in the oven.” She shivered again. “Though honestly the heat sounds lovely right now.”

“Actually, I'm going to lay you in the back and start the air conditioning, but my first problem is figuring out how to move this heavy door of yours.” He pushed his foot against the big metal propped into the frame like a shattered parody, and sighed. One thin arm worked its way out of the bundle he cradled so carefully, and he braced himself while she pushed the door to one side. “Sorry about the entryway.”

“Make Keith pay for it,” she joked, immediately hiding back under the blanket, “it's the least he can do, after what he did to you. And I don't think Commander Iverson will like it much if you hotwire his car.”

“Eh, what's an arm between friends?” He paused only briefly, letting his eyes adjust to the sun's sharp light, before carefully making his way down the stairs. “I stole Gary's keys while he was putting away your pizza. We're good.”

He felt her start to lift her head and grunted to remind her not to shift around too much. She went still again. “Are you seriously—you're actually okay with him ripping off your arm?”

“Hell, no, I'm not okay with it,” he paused on a platform and focused on evening out his breathing, “but I understand why he did it and honestly, I've done a lot worse myself for a lot dumber reasons. I'm still going to press charges, because as much as I grew to love that kid back when Matt and I were dating, brushing major assaults and straight-up dismemberment under the rug is how you end up with unrepentant killing sprees. Anyway, if I don't joke about it and keep my cool I will almost definitely decapitate him on general principle.”

“Decap--? Well, I suppose he did prove he was a menace, didn't he?”

“An active and grievous menace to society,” Shiro agreed, “and that's what HOPE sends me in to deal with.”

“Is that how they described Lance?” Her voice was soft again, but Shiro heard the wistful sadness threaded through her tone.

“It is.” He didn't feel like telling Allura the details of why Lance had been labeled that way; even if he hadn't left two dead in Cuba, demons were still classified as kill-on-sight. “I'm not above doubting it, if you're worried.”

“I'm not,” she sighed, resting her cheek on his shoulder again, “I told you; I trust you.”

“Still a horrible idea, princess.” He gently rested her on the hood of the car, propped against the windshield, and fished the keys from his pocket to press the remote start and open up the back. He wrestled the door open and scooped her up again to lay her inside. The smile she aimed up at him as she settled in gave him pause, and he reached out to touch her thin cheek. He could see her teeth even more clearly now, sharp and too many, framed in small clusters of tiny, shimmering scales. He ran a thumb over them, lost in the delicate pink sheen in the bright sunlight. He brushed the edge of one of the blue 'marks' on her cheekbone, felt it shudder beneath the touch. “Do you open these often?” He asked quietly, half entranced.

She hummed, her main eyes drifting mostly closed, and the mark fluttered open by his thumb. The eye within was faceted and brilliantly blue, white and pink drifting lazily beneath the surface like strands of sparkling mist. “They don't see well on this side of the hedge,” she admitted, “they aren't meant to see—oh.” She tried to sit up; he gently pressed her back down when she wavered. “Oh, Shiro—Shiro, you're _beautiful._ There's so many--”

“Hush,” he told her gently, hearing Gary's boots on the stairs behind him, “close up, princess. They freak him out.” He let her touch the side of his neck, straightening as she obeyed. “Hey, Gary--”

The telepath shoved him hard against the open door, teeth bared. “ _Don't take my shit,_ ” he growled, gripping Shiro's arm when the hunter swayed, “and Katie says she'll get a hold of her contact and meet us out at Lance's place. Matt's going to come fix Allura's door. You all right, princess?” He leaned around Shiro to look in on the blonde, then quickly looked away.

“Perfectly fine, Commander, thank you,” she murmured, tucking her arm back in the coverlet. “He meant no harm.”

“I am a telepath, Highness, I have very little things to myself. I tend to be very protective of that which I do have that is only mine.” He shot Shiro a sideways look. “I may have overdone it.”

“I stole your car keys and walked off with the terribly sick fairy princess, totally understandable.” He tried not to wheeze as he spoke; his shoulder throbbed. “So, we're heading out to the manor?”

The commander gave him a sideways look. “Yeah. You wanna sit in the back with Allura?”

“I get the impression that's not a question, so sure.” He gently moved Allura's legs out of the way and got in, buckling himself in and giving Gary a faint smile as the big man leaned in the other side to help buckle in Allura. He let her lean against him, arm around her shoulders, and nodded to Gary as the man closed the door.

Allura tipped her head up to look at him. “Shiro?”

He dragged in a breath and gently hugged her shoulders as Gary got into the driver's seat. “I'll tell you later, princess, I promise.”

The rest of the drive to the manor ruins was very quiet.

 


	11. Time To Save The Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro does what is necessary to save Allura's life, and reveals some secrets in the process.

Lance looked even more amazing in daylight, Shiro decided, taking in the sight of the dusky blue demon bounding towards them. The way the sun played on his hair, slid over his horns, made his rich blue eyes seem like jewels set in onyx in his face, distracted Shiro from unbuckling, and he started to get out of the car without having done so. He heard Allura laugh softly in his ear as he was jerked up short. “Not above doubting it, hm?”

“Hush,” he told her quietly, also unbuckling her and looking up as Gary reached in to work the buckle for him, “thanks,” he told the bigger man quietly, offering him back the keys tucked into a fold of Allura's blanket. “Uh--”

“I'll get her, go let Lance fuss. He's practically screaming.” Iverson rubbed at his temple, waving him off with the other hand.

“Shiro!” Lance skidded to a stop right in front of him, tail lashing behind him happily. Shiro's eyes caught on the wide, flat spade glinting in the afternoon sun. “Are you—I mean, obviously you're not okay, nothing about anything that happened is okay, but you're breathing and walking and--” he was flailing as he babbled, taloned hands whipping through the air.

“Lance,” the hunter said gently.

The demon froze, then pulled himself in as small as he could. “Sorry,” he said meekly, “I've been really really worried.” He kept his eyes down, shoulders pulling forward in what Shiro immediately recognized as guilt and shame.

“Hey,” he offered his hand to the blue-eyed creature, and a faint smile. When Lance hesitantly accepted the handshake, he yanked the demon forward into a hug, immediately ignoring the throb the impact of their torsos put into his right side. He released Lance's hand to wrap his good arm around him, and pressed his face against the demon's shoulder. He smelled fantastic, and vaguely familiar. “This wasn't your fault, okay? I don't hold this against you at all, and I never did, not even for a second.”

He felt Lance's breathing hitch, and loosened his grip to let the demon slide to his knees. The height change tucked his chin between the sweeping horns, and he marveled at the softness of the hair beneath his jaw until Lance began to sob against his good shoulder. “I feel like I led you into a trap,” Lance hiccoughed, claws tangling in the too-large shirt, “I know you said you don't blame me but you should, Shiro, you really should because if it wasn't for me you would never have gotten hurt--”

“Hush,” he found himself saying for the third time that day, and buried his fingers in the fluffy brown hair to pet Lance's scalp comfortingly, “Lance, listen to—hey, listen to me, okay?” He waited for the sobs to quiet down, for the faint nod against his chest. “I am a field agent for HOPE, okay? A—what was it everyone keeps calling me? A bloodspiller. I fight Extrahumans that have proven themselves to be dangerously out of control _for a living_. I've gotten hurt before. Not lose-a-limb hurt, right, but hurt. I'm healing, I'll find a blacksmith witch or a dryad willing to part with a Living Limb or a stonecaller or something and I'll get a really cool prosthetic, and I'll be fine. Okay?”

“Those are all really expensive,” Gary noted from behind him, “but HOPE should cover it, right? Got to be decent health insurance, sending folks out to do a job like yours.”

“It's not terrible,” Shiro agreed. He gently tugged on one of Lance's horns to get the demon to look up at him. “It's not your fault,” he said firmly, and saw the reluctant acceptance in those blue eyes, “now, is there an inside left to the manor house that's maybe cooler than it is out here?”

“Oh shit, I totally forgot!” Lance leapt to his feet—barely managing to avoid gouging one of Shiro's eyes out with a horn in the process—and gestured for them to head towards the candle-covered stairs. “The whole inside stays a nice eighty with a comfortable humidity,” he informed them cheerfully, “and if you want cold drinks I can chill things now.” He puffed out his chest a little when Shiro glanced at him curiously. “I've been practicing my magic since Adam said I could stay.”

Gary grunted. “Not an ice witch for hundreds of miles, so that didn't hurt anything. Not gonna be stepping on anyone's toes.”

“Wait, Adam agreed to give you sanctuary? Lance, that—that's great! Way to bury the lede, though.” Shiro reached out to pat the demon's shoulder, and shrugged faintly at the odd look Lance gave him. “I may have come here to kill you, but citizens of a Sanctuary are under the jurisdiction of their Guardians. HOPE's going to have to send a litigator to deal with Adam and Curtis if they want you gone, now. You're out of my purview entirely.”

“You sound relieved.” The demon said curiously, still looking him over.

“I am. You're neither out of control nor malicious, you just happen to have been born a demon, and,” he dragged in a breath, then smiled, “recently acquired information has enlightened me to the fact that that is not a sin punishable by death—or it shouldn't be.” Lance's smile almost made him trip across the threshold into the shadowed interior of the house.

The demon caught his arm and held him steady until he nodded, but the now-familiar flutter in the deepest pit of his stomach reminded him of Allura's earlier revelation. “The water—Lance, have you been drinking out of the well I saw on the edge of the property?”

The demon frowned faintly. “Sure. It draws off the local aquifer, whole thing filters through like a billion layers of sandstone and—Shiro, wait, hey, what are you--?”

Shiro grabbed Lance's arm and traced his fingers over the speckled skin, then turned to look at Allura where Gary had sat her propped against an exterior wall. “Allura, are you still--”

“I am not dropping the glamour,” she insisted quietly, “I can't drop it for just one person if they're already in it. It would destabilize the whole spell, and I haven't the energy to recast it.” Her voice sounded as though she were speaking from very far away. “Demons don't—mm.” She swayed in her blankets, and both Shiro and Lance rushed to steady her on either side. “Demons are Divine-born,” she managed weakly, “they cannot be kept under fae magics without adverse side effects, just like angels. They're just as potentially powerful. It's possible it was my glamour that undid whatever demonic magics had been helping you pass as a human, Lance, and for that I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” he reassured her, sitting beside her with his long legs crossed, “we'll figure something out. Katie's on it, and she's the smartest person I know.”

Allura's smile was dreamy. “I should hope so,” she breathed.

“Princess,” Shiro said firmly, taking those spindly fingers in his hands again, “don't you go fading out on me now. You've held on this long.”

“I'm...very tired.” She whispered.

“Allura.” He felt his jaw tensing, tried to ignore the way his growl of her name rolled off the walls. He saw the faintly-glowing 'marks' on her cheekbones open slightly in response, felt her distracted murmur of 'beautiful' in the pit of his stomach. “Please. What other things do demons and angels have in common?” He grabbed desperately at any method to keep her conscious.

The faintest smile flickered across her face. “That sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.” She swayed again, tightened her fingers around his, then reopened her eyes a little and sat herself up straighter. “Divine-born, but different types of Divinity,” her voice sounded a little stronger, “Angels are burning light and service to the Gods, but demons are made to devour Gods, to keep them from reincarnating. Born into a bottomless hunger. Neither can be destroyed by anything short of Divinity. It's why the Demon Emperor and his Empress had to be sealed away instead of killed. Even the other demons couldn't have done more than try to swallow them, but they were too powerful to have been eaten by any but each other.”

“Wait, are you saying that even if I hadn't gotten Sanctuary and Shiro had caught me outside of town, he still wouldn't have been able to kill me?” Lance tipped his head, the dim light shifting on his horns.

The smile she gave him didn't answer the question either way. She swayed under his curious eyes. Gary leaned down to Shiro's ear. “I'm going to text Katie and see what's taking so long,” he rumbled.

Shiro gave him an absent nod, stroking his thumb over the back of Allura's fingers. He wanted to get up and pace the smallish space, to prowl the perimeter of the room over and over again like a caged animal, but he didn't dare let go of her hand. Part of him insisted that if he did, she'd be gone when he took it up again. He could feel the howling from earlier building in the base of his throat again, and swallowed in an attempt to keep it from bursting to the surface.

He was so focused on that; on holding on to her, on making her stay, on not howling at the sky and demanding that the stars put themselves back in her hair, that he completely lost track of how long they crouched in the partially destroyed sitting room.

He snapped back at the sound of Katie's voice from the stairs, head reeling, and realized the windows no longer held even the faintest hint of sunset. Allura was asleep; Lance was carefully watching the rise and fall of the blanket to make sure she was still alive. “--full-time job; he can't check his texts and drop everything to call me in the middle of the workday,” Katie was saying as she and Gary made their way inside, “and anyway even if he could, he had to make some calls around about finding enough fae to cover Allura's glamour while she recovers, because he said even what he told me is only going to give her a boost. The rest of her recovery will just take time.”

The blonde's messy hair was pulled into a low tail; the trail of a braid wove through it and glinted with tiny gems. Her shirt was camouflage with the words, _'NO ONE CAN SEE ME,'_ in hot pink across the front, her skirt knee-length and rich brown with large, sloppily embroidered tulips on one side. She tapped her phone against her collarbone as she spoke over her shoulder, fingers tight around the brightly-colored rectangle as though it held a promise. “Hey, Taka, you look hella stressed.”

He offered her a faint smile. “Your contact came through?”

She stared at him for a moment. “'Hey Katie, how are you?'” She asked sharply, tipping her head to the side in a short, jerking motion. “'Sorry to drop the information that one of your closest friends has been systematically killing herself to see through a duty she literally inherited because her dickbag father tased her and locked her in a closet for ten thousand years in your lap with no further explanation and expect you to magically be the one to find someone who could possibly come up with a viable solution while I _totally fugue out and don't replace my goddamned phone_.' I'm great, Taka, thanks. A little stressed.” Her phone creaked in her grasp; she dragged in a sharp breath and double-checked that it was unharmed before crossing the room to crouch next to Lance.

“He said that if she's been passing out, if her shine is gone, then the only thing that can save her life is to give her someone else's.” She reached out to touch Allura's cheek, heedless of the row of short spines. Shiro saw them brush her skin; she wiped off the moisture on her shirt without batting an eye, only frowning a little when the fabric discolored. “Has to be done in starlight, too. Fae crap, you know.”

Lance opened his mouth; Shiro felt the low growl roll through the room again before the demon could speak. “Then let's get her outside before anyone makes any rash promises.” He barely even noticed Katie's long, considering look as he got to his feet. He grimaced at the sharp ache to his knees and hips as he stood, and dragged in a breath. “Gary, do you mind?”

“Yeah, I got her,” the telepath motioned Lance and Katie out first, then gave Shiro a hard look. “You're going to do something stupid, aren't you.” It was about as far from a question as he'd heard for a while.

He was pretty sure the smile he offered was closer to 'unhinged' than 'reassuring,' but he helped Allura stay steady in Gary's arms while the officer stood with her. “I promise I'll be fine.”

The stars felt like pins in his eyes as they emerged; the rampant candlelight made him feel like he was suffocating, but the sight of it filtered through Lance's now-spread origami wings was like the most heart-stopping glimpse of perfectly-cut sepia stained glass, and he took a moment to admire the view. Allura hardly made a noise when Iverson gently set her on the remnants of the white-gravel driveway, and Shiro was suddenly reminded of the picture attached to Gary's name in Matt's phone. He looked over at the Garrison officer and tipped his head. “Was this your--”

“No, it wasn't. The driveway style was popular with the unscrupulously wealthy, pre-Unmasking. My ancestors were no exception.” He took off his jacket to add to the padding beneath Allura's head, then looked up at Katie. “Was there a ritual, or..?”

She shook her head. “Just giving her someone else's life. I figured it would involve coaxing a heart down her...throat...or...” Her amber-hazel eyes went wide, and she swallowed hard, taking half a step back. Lance caught her when she almost sat down hard on the gravel.

Something was taking shape beside Shiro. Something massive and rumbling, with too many heads and square muzzles, noses lifted to the air and dropped to the ground all at once. It was mostly black; not in the sense of a comfortable black shirt or the sizzling Arizona asphalt, but the kind of dark found inside the coronas of the deepest black holes, speckled with the occasional dusting of silvery threads of fur like distant swallowed stars. The paws were immense, digging into the gravel with a satisfying crunch of loose stone and scrape of heavy claw. Each set of eyes carried a different color; silver and purple and golden-brown and grey and black all surveying the scene. One jaw was less than square, but the broken bone didn't seem to be bringing the creature any pain at all.

Shiro stood with his hand on its leg, eyes closed, and breathing very slow and even. The broken-jawed head turned to sniff at Katie, and she gently offered her hand to a wet nose the size of her head. It huffed once, then pressed to her palm and behind the enormous mass of its body, the great creature thumped an equally sizable tail. The limb glinted with scales in the candlelight. When she let out a stunned giggle it moved away to gently sniff at Allura's prone form.

One by one, a dozen huge heads lifted to howl their indignance at the princess' situation to the uncaring stars. One by one, they ceased their raucous cries, until only the one with the broken jaw still bayed its objections to the dark. The sound cut off with a wet, wrenching _SNAP!_ of heavy teeth, followed by the sound of tearing flesh.

Gary turned away and stumbled to the other side of the candle-covered driveway to be noisily sick. Lance and Katie watched in stunned silence as eleven heads turned on their broken brother and tore him, bite by wet, crunching bite, from the ribboned stump of his own neck. The meat inside was clean and bloodless, and later Lance would swear he saw light down the long length of the open windpipe. One of the other heads took up the severed one as it fell, eyes still brightly purple in the void-dark fur, and settled the ragged neck onto Allura's chest.

The fae sat up almost immediately, but it was clear that it was instinct alone that drove her fingers into the thick fur. Her jaw dropped, sank into the end of the nose that Katie had so recently touched, and she began to eat with rapid bites that seemed far smaller than what was disappearing from the canine head. The sounds made Lance cover his ears, but Katie watched, transfixed, as the royal consumed the severed head in its entirety; only the heavy, grinding crunch of bone-on-bone-in-flesh dragged the citrine eyes away from the princess' gory meal.

The shredded neck was reforming into two, with a head atop each. One of the new heads sported a small triangular patch of silver between the great dark furrowed brows. Both new sets of eyes flickered open. The purple was there again in one, but the one with the triangular mark sported eyes without pupils, pink as a desert sunrise and swirling with light both white and blue.

Through it all, Shiro hadn't moved. He kept his hand on the beast's shoulder and his eyes closed, swaying slightly on his feet. Katie thought she might have seen his mouth move, but was distracted from trying to discern what he was saying by the way the jaws were changing above their heads. They were leaner now, sharper, more foxlike than the square doggish muzzles, and the way the creature held itself changed. It seemed less passive, and several heads eyed Lance with a curiosity that made Katie put herself between them, though she was much less certain of that choice when the eyes turned on her.

“Taka,” she called, and realized her voice seemed startlingly loud in the nauseating silence left behind by the gruesome cacophony of Allura devouring a severed dog head the size of an old VW beetle, “that's enough. She only needs one.”

Shiro didn't move. One of the heads lowered to inspect them more closely, wet shuffling breath rattling some loose gravel at her feet.

“Shiro?” Lance's voice was far less sure than Katie's had been. The demon's fear was clear in his voice. The lowering head snapped up again and blew a hard breath out through its nose. “Shiro, please?”

One of the heads rumbled quietly. Shiro pulled back his hand and the creature was gone. He swayed on his feet a moment, then held out his hand. “It's okay,” he reassured, voice rasping, “it's just me, you guys. It was always just me.” He grunted when Lance leapt over Allura to slam into his side, but accepted the demon's desperate hug by pressing his face into one bare, blue shoulder. “It's okay, it's okay,” he repeated quietly, “I wasn't going to hurt you, I wasn't gong to hurt any of you. It was just me.”

Katie knelt by Allura, studying her face in concern. The fae was staring blankly ahead, not blinking, with no sign of acknowledging any of what had just happened. “There's...there's no blood,” she whispered, reaching up to touch Allura's jaw, “you bit off a whole ass head and she ate it, and there's no blood anywhere.”

“It was a metaphysical head, Katie,” Shiro pointed out, “but if you'd prefer blood effects, I can work on that.” He gently stroked Lance's back, pet the bases of where his clockwork origami wings connected, and leaned back to look up at him. “Hey, Lance? You okay?”

The demon shook his head vigorously. “Not gonna be for a while,” he admitted candidly, then reached up and touched the side of Shiro's neck, where a ragged, red rope of scar tissue had appeared. “Shiro, what—what are you?”

“I'm human,” he said simply, giving Lance a small smile, “but I'm also something called a Cerberus. I don't understand it very well, myself, but there's an alchemist who--”

Katie made a strangling noise. “You're working with an alchemist and I wasn't your first choice?”

The look he gave her was unreadable, especially in the shifting candlelight. “Do you know how to cure my genetic disorder, Katharine?”

She pursed her lips and looked down. “No,” she admitted sulkily.

“Good thing you weren't my first choice, then.” He returned his attention to the demon clinging to his side. “She's been looking for people like me, and she had something to offer, so I took her up on it. Hey, Lance, really, it's okay. The big dog-wolf-dragon thing, that's me. That's all me. Has no more intention of hurting you than I do. You trust that, right?” He reached up to brush back the soft brown hair. He smiled when Lance slowly nodded. “Okay. Let's check on Allura, then, okay?”

“Yeah,” the demon agreed meekly, then straightened up sharply. “Oh, shit! Yeah! Katie, how is she?”

“Still a little out of--”

Allura surged to her feet as Shiro got closer, grabbing his good shoulder with a hand that no longer had fingers the length of his forearm. “You shouldn't have,” she hissed, baring teeth that didn't belong in so soft a face.

“You're welcome,” he told her quietly, only to be hissed at again and shoved away. He rocked with the motion and let Lance catch him.

“You could be a little grateful, princess,” the demon rebuked quietly, “he just hurt himself to save your life. I don't understand a thousand percent of what just happened, but I at least get that.”

“Who _asked_ him to?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. “My people are dead, half my family in the grave and the other half stained in their blood, I have the opportunity to finally die in this forsaken empty realm--”

“Dryreef needs you, princess,” Shiro interrupted her gently, “you were the one that told me that. So you're going to live, we're going to find enough fae to spot you on the glamour, we're going to sort out this whole mess about the poisoned aquifer--”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Katie and Lance managed almost perfect unison with the outcry. The demon shot a look out towards where the well sat in the dark.

“--And then, once all of that is sorted and we've distributed an actual cure, if you still want to die, I can manage that. Okay?”

She stared at him another long, hard moment, then leaned in and grabbed him by the neck again. “You've got yourself a deal, Cerberus,” she whispered, then yanked him in for a kiss.

 


	12. The Night Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katie takes Shiro and Lance to meet her fae contact.

Katie, Lance announced as the car had come to a complete stop on the dunes, was no longer allowed to drive him anywhere. He had punctuated the statement by wobbling off to one side and bracing himself on a red and white hoverbike, gagging dramatically. His tail wound around Shiro's wrist as the hunter hopped out of the passenger seat of Katie's old Jeep to check on him. Katie slid from the driver's seat, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. Like having you in the back wailing like a lightless cop siren is a total picnic. At least Gary got the quiet ride home with Allura.”

“That's because Gary was actually _going_ home,” Lance straightened up, tail sliding from Shiro's wrist with the lingering drag of the spade across his palm, “you said we had to come see your contact.” He squinted around at the impromptu parking lot, wrinkling the bridge of his nose. “What did you say this place is called again? All I see is a bunch of vehicles.”

“Yeah, that's because the Night Market takes place inside some of the upper level sandstone caves,” she sighed, “behind a series of magical blinds. Almost no one here is going to thank me for bringing Taka, but my contact said his partner is going to want to talk to him, so here we are. The Night Market isn't part of the Sanctuary, but most of the people here are locals, Taka, so you know—don't hunt anybody.”

“I think I can manage to restrain myself,” the brunette said dryly, playfully grabbing after the end of Lance's anxiously wiggling tail. When he couldn't catch it, he settled his hand on the demon's hip, instead, and offered him a faint smile as they followed the grumbling blonde. “You all right, Same Hat?” He asked softly.

“Not by a long shot, White Metal,” Lance's smile was very small, and unsure, “I'm still really confused and freaked out about everything that happened—including the deal you and Allura struck. Would you really kill her?”

“If that's what she wants, after all this is said and done, yes. Fae rules prohibit her from taking her own life in an active capacity, but listen, hey.” He gently pulled Lance to a halt and closer to him, pressing his face up as the demon bent down to touch their foreheads together. “By the time all of this is said and done, she'll be well on her way to recovery. The fae that will have been spotting her on the glamour will reassure her that she's not as alone as she thinks, she'll get the opportunity to reconnect with at least some of her people, and maybe, just maybe, that will help her feel like she has something besides duty to keep living for.” He lifted his head a little more and pressed a light kiss to Lance's hairline. “Okay? Not the first time I've had to deal with a suicidal urge, and besides,” he leaned back to give those blue-blue eyes a wicked little grin, “I got to kiss a fairy princess.”

“Uuuugh!” Lance pulled away from him, rolling his eyes and making a face, but his tail was back to its slower, idle sway. He hurried ahead to catch up with Katie. Shiro watched him bend nearly in double to talk with her, the heavily-clawed hands making small a few small gestures and folding carefully when she spoke. The demon's head tilted, and the flat spade of his tail touched her shoulder. She shook her head, and he nodded, then looked over his shoulder and motioned for Shiro to join them.

He caught up at the mouth of the cave, and a man who looked like he'd been napping against the stone lifted his head. The moonlight glinted oddly off his eyes, and Shiro decided he didn't want to look closer to see what the pupils buried in the uranium-green irises were actually shaped like. Katie offered out her wrist, showing off what looked like an intricately-woven friendship bracelet. He waved a hand at it, shaking his head.

“I know you, Lady,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off of Shiro, “and the demon is of course welcome—Bogh even has a wristlet ready for him—but the _murderer_ ,” the teeth that bared at the hiss of the word were heavy and glinted dark in the dim light, “isn't welcome here. He is the kind of person I am specifically put here to prevent from entering.”

“I know, Lahn,” Katie spoke slightly to his left, into the shadows, with what sounded to Shiro like a remarkable display of patience given the attitude she'd taken since he'd made his deal with Allura, “but I was asked to bring him. The Commander wants to meet him.”

The rattling hiss and huff of air belonged to something much bigger than the six-foot-five man in the cave mouth, and Shiro felt his back start to tense up at it. Lance's hand on his stomach told him he'd started to growl back, and he pulled the demon closer to himself, further from the green-eyed creature. “The Commander can stuff it. They're my caves, and I'm not letting that _thing_ in.” Lahn shifted the way he stood slightly, the moonlight casting long shadows on his face. “I should kill it and spare everyone the trouble.”

“He literally kills things like us as his job, Lahn, and he's agreed to be peaceable,” Katie's voice still held a lot of patience, and Shiro saw her settle her hand flat on the stone by the big man's shoulder, gently smoothing her palm over a spot where the rock looked rough, “how about we let him do that, okay? While also not pissing off both the Dire and the Commander?”

The rattling hiss came again on a huge breath, before Lahn pulled back against the stone. “Things like _me,_ maybe, Lady Green,” he sighed, “but surely not you.” The look he finally turned on Katie seemed inordinately fond. Shiro found himself distinctly not liking it, and had to forcibly suppress the urge to pull the tiny blonde protectively back against him as well.

“I wouldn't put it past him,” she patted the stone again, smiling up at it, and Shiro suddenly realized that the round light above them was not, in fact, and had never been, the moon. He stared into the slightly green glow and felt himself tense again, but Lance wrapped his tail around him and he found himself snapping back into his own mind as though instinct had shoved him entirely out of it and somehow, slightly to his left. He pressed his face against the demon with a sigh, focusing on the wonderful/familiar smell instead of how much he wanted to fight the enormous beast blocking the path. “So, I have your permission to admit him to the Night Market as my guest, Lahn?”

“If he will accept your mark, Lady,” was the reluctant response.

She smiled up at the stone again, patted it fondly, and turned towards where Shiro was holding Lance tight against him. Both brows raised, and she looked curiously up at the demon, who shrugged one shoulder and spread the fingers of one hand. The other pet Shiro's hair soothingly. “Taka, you willing to be marked as here on my good word? It fades at sunrise.”

He slowly lifted his head from Lance's side. “Of course, Katie,” he immediately couldn't tear his eyes away from the huge glowing orb over their heads again, “if you'll suffer me.”

“Have for years,” she said brightly, and laid a hand on his wrist where it lay on Lance's hip.

It felt like fire crawling across his skin and digging into his bones, but the pain was gone in a breath. The mark left behind looked like the bright green bud of a flower. If he squinted, Shiro thought he could see a hint of red where the petals would emerge. Bloomed, he estimated it would cover the entire back of his hand. He looked back up at the huge eye above their heads, and showed off the mark. “Satisfied, dragon?”

Lahn let out another of those huge alligator hisses. “I am not the only one who will object to your presence here, bloodspiller,” he rumbled, and the voice this time spread from the entire mouth of the cave, “best you keep that tongue of yours tamed.”

“Bad night for that,” Shiro muttered, but he ducked his head and followed Katie through the stone arch beneath Lahn's stony neck.

“Mind you stop by Bogh on your way in, little demon,” the dragon's tone to Lance was remarkably soft and kind, “he's very excited to give you your wristlet.”

“I will, thank you,” Lance said, with one of his bright, brilliant smiles upwards, “and can I say that you are the first dragon I am aware of meeting and despite Shiro's crankiness, I am really, really stoked and you are _so cool_.”

The pleased hum followed them a good fifty feet into the darkness of the cave, and Shiro wondered the whole time if they were walking beneath Lahn's body or the cave was simply echoing the dragon's attitude. “So, uh, in advance this time so nobody decides that uh, baring their teeth and letting out Great Big Scary Growls is the best idea, what is Bogh, exactly?” Lance asked Katie as they approached a curve lighted from the far side by a steady yellow glow.

“He's a pixie,” she informed them, smoothing the embroidered flowers on her skirt, “four inches of fierce love and devotion to his giant stone dragon husband, expert craftsman of magical keys and passes, specifically in the form of jewelry, and weaver of exquisite cloth. When you're four inches tall getting a tight weave to your fabrics is child's play, apparently.” They rounded the corner and she paused to let the two take a moment to stare at what appeared to be a solid sandstone wall and the eerily-steady torch gleaming beside it. She touched the torch with the hand whose wrist bore the woven bracelet, and the stone seemed to shimmer. “Come on, then, it only stays open for a few seconds.”

Shiro walked through it without further prompting, gently tugging Lance alongside him as the demon closed his eyes and cringed like he expected to be rammed face first into rock. The noise on the other side of the blind was nearly deafening, in comparison to the quiet cave they'd left behind. The interior cavern was enormous, lighted by torches, candles, magical floating globes, glowing figures, and even mining lights along the outer wall. People of all species bustled about, trading, talking, laughing, and—Shiro's stomach rumbled as he caught the smell of it—eating all kinds of foods. The path they came in on led to a set of steps with a small market stall at the top of it.

Behind the stall was piled what looked like acres of shimmering fabric, half-linked chain, and drying threads, and atop the counter of it was a tiny man of about four inches tall, who waved to them enthusiastically as they approached. “Lady Green, welcome back!” His voice was rich and smooth, a comfortable baritone despite his diminutive stature, and his smile was just a little too wide for his face. “I see you've finally brought Dryreef's newest resident! Come, come, I've made you a welcoming gift—no strings attached, of course.” He beckoned up to Lance, who unwrapped himself from Shiro and gamely padded over.

“Now, finding the right marks to honor a demon so young, no hive, with magic, it was a tricky thing,” Bogh gave Lance a smile, patting the demon's palm as he laid his wrist on the stall, “I think I managed it all with respect, you tell me if I did it right.” He turned, and a strip of leather about an inch and a half wide drifted up behind him to settle into Lance's grasp.

The small gasp brought Shiro forward another step, but Katie put a hand to his chest. “This is just for him,” she said quietly, and he felt the protective urge ebb. She was right; the look on Lance's face shouldn't be spoiled by his surging instincts.

“It's beautiful,” Lance marveled, turning the strap this way and that. Shiro saw that whatever had been used to dye it was a pale blue, shimmering beneath the surface as if it would blend in with the demon's claws where they touched it. The image of two snowflakes partly fused together gleamed as the light touched them, and beneath them was the carefully-worked image of a set of dragonfly wings that flared with blue light when Lance ran his thumb over them. “I've never felt leather so soft. Thank you very much.”

“Lamia shed,” Bogh shrugged, clearly pleased that Lance appreciated his gift. He took the leather and spread it out, helping the demon wrap it around his wrist. A single touch from the pixie fused the ends of the wristlet together. “It'll help as a magical focus while you're practicing, so you don't end up freezing your own feet to the floor.”

“Is that the voice of experience?” The demon asked with a little smile.

“Ah, secondhand. My magic's air, like Lahn's is earth. You'll get used to the feelings of all the different ones, in time.” Bogh patted the demon's palm again and stepped back, then pointed to Shiro. “Something for you too, hunter,” he announced, taking in the nervous shift of Shiro's feet with an unsympathetic look, “courtesy of the Dire's mate.” What floated up to be presented this time was woven of the finest wire Shiro had ever seen and what looked like glass, but it flexed as Bogh laid it on the wooden stall.

Shiro looked down at it, then up at the pixie. “It must have galled you to make something so fine for one such as me,” he said quietly, “thank you for enduring such a trial.” He ducked his torso in a faint bow, and offered his wrist. “I've never seen dragon glass woven, before.”

“Lahn makes the best glass on three continents,” Bogh informed him in a tone that made it clear it was not an idle boast, “the Dire's mate insisted. He said he knew that you would earn it, when he asked for it to be made.” He eyed the HOPE agent with suspicion.

“He did,” Lance crouched down a little to give Bogh one of his devastatingly brilliant smiles, “he gave part of himself to help Allura, and no one had to ask.”

The pixie leaned back, then stepped forward to wrap the bracelet around Shiro's wrist. “Well. If you've given to help the Firstborn, then this is barely adequate thanks.” He wove another fine piece of wire through the two ends and sealed it up firmly. “Those royals may have fallen—and good riddance to most of those bastards—but she's. She's the Firstborn, and we all still remember that.” He patted the bracelet and stepped back. “Mind the stairs, they can be a bit tricksy on humans.” He dismissed them with a wave and leapt down to return to the huge pile of beautiful things behind him.

Katie patted them both on the backs. “He didn't warn me the first time,” she noted, “I slid down twenty stone steps on my face. Let's try not to nose around any more about Allura, though, okay? She kinda gets...mixed reviews, down here. Come on, my contact will be getting impatient.” She took the stairs two at a time, leaving Lance to make sure Shiro made it down them safely.

“She's awfully antsy about her contact,” Lance noted, tapping each step with his tail to make sure it was safe before he guided Shiro down.

“According to the vague bits of lore I bothered remembering, dealing with the fae can be tricky,” Shiro noted, gripping the demon's arm for all he was worth as he felt the stone shift beneath his foot.

“They really don't teach you anything about the fae in those training courses of yours, do they?” The tone was mostly amused, and Shiro took a moment to appreciate the humor, himself.

“Yeah, the whole 'sending me to a city fully in contact with the fae' thing is hilarious, in light of all that.” As they reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused, then gave Lance's arm a gentle tug. “Hey. I know that you're freaked out and I've been suddenly really touchy with you tonight--”

“I find that comforting,” Lance hastened to reassure him, smiling, “I'm a very physical person.”

“Let me finish,” Shiro told him with a soft smile, taking in the quiet flick of Lance's wings as the demon pressed his lips closed. “I know that it might seem a little weird that I've suddenly gotten really touchy and I want you to understand why, because it's important to me that you don't get freaked out more. Okay?”

“Okay,” Lance said quietly, curling his fingers over Shiro's on his arm. The tiny curve of his lips didn't falter.

“When I gave Allura that life, my very nature shifted—it's not permanent, just until the next time—to something more...instinctual. Feral.” He felt his thumb moving over the speckled blue skin, leaned in a little closer to get a face full of Lance's scent, and closed his eyes to savor it. “Primal.” He could feel the heat of Lance's skin on his lips.

“Shiro?” The Cuban made his voice deliberately sharp, pushing Shiro back to enough self-awareness to lean back again.

“Sorry. I'm finding it about a thousand times harder to resist you right now, and you're the only person in the area that isn't chalk-full of extra sexy-juju, so I may be refocusing all of my intensely distracting lust onto you on top of the fact that I think you're really cute. I need you to--”

“Actually,” the voice that cut in was a mellow bass, warm and amused over the pulse of hot blood in Shiro's ears, “you're not refocusing lust so much as you're no longer affected by what's in the water.” The figure that stepped into view from behind Lance was almost as tall as the demon's horns, broad in the shoulders, and covered in rich, thick purple fur. One eye was covered in a patch that glowed a faint red, the other was a solid, hard yellow, and even as the beast moved around Lance, its heavily-fanged mouth pulled into a grimace. “That's...the connotations on that are all wrong, but modern English is my hundred and ninety-fifth language, so I...don't really care to fix them. You're purportedly a clever man, Agent Shirogane, I'm sure you know what I mean.”

He didn't remember moving Lance behind him, but he could feel himself readying for a fight in every muscle. “The wolf is immune?”

“Most magical effects will slide right off,” the enormous creature shrugged one shoulder, watching him move with interest, “or so I have been informed.” It turned slightly and looked over its shoulder; Shiro caught sight of a tall, thin beast with similarly-colored—though very short—fur handing Katie a box. “Her contact; my partner.”

He pulled back faintly, the sight of the tiny blonde reminding him of the promise he'd made her on their way through the parking lot. “Right. You must be the Commander, then.”

“Sendak,” it offered one massive paw to shake, “that's Haxus.”

Katie let out a yelp as she opened the box; Shiro tensed until he saw the look of complete delight she gave the skinny creature. “What's in the box?”

“Goldthorn cuttings and some silphium seeds,” Sendak still sounded amused, “he always gives her new extinct plants when they meet up in person.”

Shiro turned a curious look up to the enormous beast. “Plants?”

The glowing gaze turned back to him, and Shiro got the distinct impression that Sendak was unfavorably surprised. “Surely you know the Lady Green's enthusiastic relationship with plants.”

“Actually we were out of contact for about six years, last I heard she hated them as a way of rebelling.”

“She gets along much better with her mother now that she lives alone,” the easy detail made Shiro give him another long look before the hunter quietly accepted the handshake still being offered.

“Aside from her liking them, the plants don't have any real meaning, do they?”

“If you're worried about him gifting her with a contraceptive, you needn't bother.”

“No, I—wait, he gave her _what?_ ” Shiro drew himself up and barely noticed the twinge in his shoulder. The sound of Katie and Haxus arguing briefly turned his head; the skinny creature was undoing the small braid tucked into her ponytail and hissing while she swore up at it. She made no move to stop the restyling, instead holding out her free hand to accept the small gems being removed, so Shiro kept his temper. “She's sixteen!”

Sendak gave him an odd look. “...She's twenty-one.”

He felt like the words had popped a balloon in his stomach. “She...no, that's...yeah, okay.”

“I was informed you'd have a lot of ridiculous knee-jerk reactions, but this is entertaining.” The kind tone brought Shiro's attention back to the heavily-furred face, and the hunter wrinkled his nose.

“So, you're not an Extrahuman I recognize.”

“Possibly because we're not Extrahuman.” Haxus had come over, Katie just behind him and redoing her ponytail, as Sendak and Shiro had been making faces at each other. “We're Constructs. Chimera.”

He took a moment to sort through that, frowning, and looked both of them over thoroughly. “I'll admit, HOPE's information on chimera's is uh. Unhelpful at best, but...all I see missing between the two of you is an eye.”

“Shiro!” Lance sounded scandalized, and leaned over his good shoulder to give him a disbelieving look.

“I'm not expecting delicacy,” Sendak excused with a faint smile down at Shiro, “I was briefed on the intricacies of his...situation.” He seemed a little more smug when the hunter smiled briefly back up at him.

“I didn't tell them,” Katie offered, not looking up from the contents of the box Haxus had given her.

“It's okay, I didn't figure.” He kept looking up at Sendak, polite and expectant.

The big creature raised one hand and flexed it. Reddish-purple runes gleamed on the skin, all the way up to the carefully-rolled cuff of his nightshade-colored dress shirt. “Magical prosthetics. Both of us.”

“Couldn't spring for the matching eye?” Shiro joked, running his gaze over the gleaming patch.

“ _Shiro!_ ” Lance's voice leapt upwards approximately two octaves.

“The eye-patch is a look,” Sendak shrugged, his smile widening.

“It is that,” the cerberus agreed, mouth twitching. He stepped a little closer, reaching out to smooth one side of the thin lapel on Sendak's suit jacket.

Katie looked up from the box and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, gross. C'mon, Lance, let's go do literally anything else.” She tucked the box under her arm and grabbed the demon's hand, dragging him off into the crowd.

Shiro barely noticed, sliding his fingers over the suit jacket with interest. “This is really nice silk,” he noted, still studying Sendak's face, “Italian?”

“Greek,” the chimera informed him with humor, “like the rest of me.”

“Mm.” He spent another moment stroking the silk, then realized how close he'd stepped when the next inhalation filled his nose with a smell like cinnamon, sharp and spicy. Sendak's face was a little harder to see from the new angle. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“About the Firstborn, and the glamour,” Sendak agreed, prosthetic coming up to trail up Shiro's extended arm, “and finding enough power to replace what she's using. Katie said Haxus' suggestion worked?”

“Yeah, I gave her one of mine.” Shiro tipped his head to let Sendak see the fresh, red scar on his neck. “Would it help to give her more?”

“I think now what she needs is to rest,” the bigger man said gently, touching it with one claw, “your energy is still foreign to her, and it will take more time to integrate. I have called our Lord, who was delighted to hear that someone was concerned about the Firstborn besides him. Several of our priestly order are on their way to take over the glamour, but the one leading them is a bit...ah. Contentious? I thought perhaps if I warned you, you might pass it on to the Firstborn. She and I are not precisely on speaking terms.”

Shiro kept his head to the side, eyes sliding halfway closed at the lingering touch to his neck. “I can do that,” he agreed mildly, “Allura and I have some positive interactions between us.”

“Is that what you call this?” The sharp promise of the claw changed to the warm drag of a thumb. In the back of his mind, Shiro vaguely registered that Haxus had also departed.

“It's a word for it,” the hunter leaned closer, all but bodily pressing himself to the shimmering silk suit, “and it gets the job done.” He felt his mouth open when Sendak's hand shifted to curl long fingers around the side of his neck, and his mind flooded with the images he hadn't been successfully ignoring—ways he could better get to know the chimera, where his prosthetics ended, whether or not those heavy teeth were just for show. He tipped his head back, fingers tightening on Sendak's collar.

“ _Shiro!_ ” Lance's voice cut through the haze like a hastily-thrown knife, and he shoved Sendak away as much as he himself stepped back. “Sorry, I know you want to get it with the hot Greek monster but--”

“Thank you,” Sendak murmured, smoothing his jacket.

The demon hardly flicked a glance his way. His soft hair barely looked disheveled, though he was breathing a little hard from running. “Katie signed up to fight in the arena and I couldn't talk her out of it.”

 

 


	13. Sunflowers Are An Aesthetic Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro tries to stop Katie from fighting in the arena and is forced to watch from the sidelines instead. It's educational. Shiro's thirst continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.
> 
> A wemic is the term for a lion centaur in the Dungeons and Dragons manual. I got mad typing the word 'lion-taur.'

The world suddenly felt like it had been cast in gelatin, clear and slow and wobbling slightly. Shiro felt his shoulders tense up, nearly choked on the growl that built up in the back of his throat but came from somewhere to his left, and he felt Sendak sidestep before his hand was all the way back to where the man had been standing. “This place has an _arena?_ ”

“Every Night Market has an arena,” the big beast told him mildly.

“Where the _hell_ is your partner, that he didn't put a stop to—she's just a kid!” Shiro shook his head and offered Lance his hand. “Take me to her.” They turned and bolted off, weaving through the crowd. Shiro hardly noticed when his jagged shoulder bounced off of one or two people on their way through.

“She's twenty-one,” Sendak's objection faded as he followed along behind them at a more moderate pace.

The arena was in the center of the Night Market, well-lighted with mining lights around the outside of a chain-link cage decorated in tiny spell-bags and gleaming crystals. The seats were bleacher-style, and the crowd thicker as they approached. The smell of food was stronger, too, and Shiro was suddenly reminded that he hadn't eaten for most of the day. He overheard someone nearby say something about the Lady Green as he and Lance had to slow to a walk.

The smell of food was overwhelming. He saw someone walk past him with a hot dog and almost let go of Lance's hand. “Shiro?” The demon asked, just loudly enough to be heard.

“Instinct,” the cerberus rumbled, shaking his head, “no impulse control.”

“Just remember Katie's in danger.”

“Focused.” It was like turning up the definition of the world; everything was suddenly sharper and more distinct. He could almost smell Katie in the crowd. He pushed forward, eyes on the cage.

Someone pushed back; he felt himself lunge against their hands, only to be yanked back by Lance. His teeth were bared, and it took effort to push his lips back over them again. They finally made it close enough to see into the arena—Haxus shifted the box he'd given to Katie aside as though he'd been using it to save space by the rail.

Katie leaned casually against the cage on one side, hands in the pockets of her knee-length skirt and rubbing the soft soles of her shoes into the sandy floor. She looked up as Shiro and Lance leaned on the rail, and gave them a smile.

Shiro grabbed at Haxus' arm. “Get her out of there,” he snarled.

The thin creature pulled his arm away with a disgusted click of his tongue. “Like I'd do you any favors over her,” he hissed, “why don't you try trusting that she knows what she's doing?”

“She's a _child_ ,” Shiro pressed.

“She's only two years younger than I am,” Lance noted, sounding a little put out. “I know I came to get you, Shiro, but like. Maybe stop insisting she's a kid? Please?”

“It's—I remember when she was in pigtails,” the hunter objected, feeling the plea in his voice.

Haxus let out an indelicate snort. “So do I,” he quipped, “she wore them last week.” He leaned back a little when Shiro growled at him.

The far door of the arena opened; the sound of heavy paws thumping over the sand made Shiro's head whip to the side. The gleaming fur on the four big paws was only a little darker than the sand itself, and the lights of the arena drew the eye upwards, along the graceful leonine body to the only slightly less furry humanoid torso and the golden-topped head with its slightly pointed face. The creature facing Katie was a wemic; the muscular body of a lion with a proportionate humanoid torso in place of a lion's head. It was a fine example of its species, and Shiro noted several aged scars along its flanks. It was very clear that this was not the wemic's first round in an arena. It moved like a champion. He tightened his grip on the railing. “You _cannot be serious.”_

“I agree,” Sendak mused from behind him, finally catching up and offering Shiro a hot dog wrapped in foil, “it seems a terribly unbalanced fight.”

“He was the best I could find her on short notice,” Haxus said defensively, “none of the locals would fight when they heard it was her.”

His fingers spasmed so hard on the offered food that for a moment Shiro thought he might have squeezed it in two. “You _arranged this?_ ” He could feel another howl boiling through his blood.

The skinny chimera eyed him for a moment, then reached back to pull Sendak up beside him—and, incidentally, between him and Shiro—before relieving him of another hot dog, half unwrapping it, and shoving a large bite in between his alarmingly-long teeth. “I arrange all of the arena fights,” he mumbled around his food.

It was again Lance's hands that held him back, and he found himself heaving with rage and panic in the demon's arms. “ _Sendak please._ ”

The Commander gave him another of those unfavorably impressed looks. “You need to trust the Lady Green, Agent Shirogane,” he said crisply, “we do not promise fights in this arena and then fail to deliver.”

“Let me fight instead,” he offered hastily.

“No.”

The word rang in his head like a blow to the ear. He turned his attention back to the arena with a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He barely noticed Lance gently helping him unwrap his hot dog, eyes locked on Katie, who was calmly straightening herself out as the wemic laughed.

The crowd settled easily, and there must have been some kind of spell enhancing what the competitors said, because Shiro clearly understood the words spoken in a faint, clipped accent. “This is what they rush to find a top-tier fighter for?” The creature mocked, tearing up the sand beneath its front paws. “A little girl, who comes to fight in a skirt she put flowers on?”

Katie's head tilted to one side, and she shifted her hands inside her pockets. “Actually,” she corrected dryly, not intimidated one iota, “my brother embroidered these tulips. He stitched the pockets in, too.” She paused, sweeping her eyes up over the crowd, and started to grin. It was not an expression that Shiro recognized on her face, though he knew it well enough from his own. It was predatory and delighted, all at once. “Would you like to know what's in them?”

The question was less for her opponent and more for the crowd, Shiro knew it the moment she turned away slightly, pulling a delighted rumble from the stands that quickly grew to a roar. She pulled one hand from her pocket and held it up. It was empty; the crowd roared again, the sound threaded with disapproval. She tipped her head the other way, then slowly pulled the other hand free.

It wasn't immediately apparent what she held in that hand, but the crowd started to go wild. Shiro even heard a quiet, enthused hiss from Haxus on the other side of Sendak. She held up the item to the wemic and smiled when it laughed at her again.

“Sunflower seeds?” The creature mocked. “What, does the little girl want a snack before I beat her into the sand?” It looked around at the screeching audience in confusion.

“Oh, _sweetie_ ,” she told it with a smile, “that's so _cute_.” She raised the plastic packet to her teeth and tore it open, scattering the seeds to the sand.

“Sunflowers?” Sendak muttered, then sighed. “I'm going to have to scour down again.”

Shiro looked over his shoulder at Lance, who looked as baffled as he felt. His eyes snapped back to the arena when he saw motion, and he surged up against the rail again at seeing the wemic lurching forward with a short spear in one hand. “ _KATIE!_ ”

Something moved underneath the heavy paws as they pushed across the sand. The creature lurched to the side as a giant sunflower stalk burst upward between its paws. “What?!” It snarled. The leaves on the side of the sunflower shot outwards, turning into heavy vines that reached for the golden paws. It evaded easily, leaping upwards and landing on the flat of one of the leaves. It laughed again, raising the short spear and starting to leap toward her. “You're powerful, little greenweaver! I'll hurt you slightly less, out of respect!”

She held out her hands, still looking entirely casual and calm. “Don't do me any favors,” she taunted.

When the wemic was in the air, another set of vines shot out from the sunflower and caught its back paws, effectively stopping it short and slamming it bodily into the sand. Another set of greenery ripped upward, twining around the front legs, then another tore the spear from its hands as it attempted to push itself upward.

Shiro turned his head towards Sendak for some kind of explanation, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the arena. Underneath the pinned creature, he saw the sand move again, and clutched at the now-empty wrapper of his hotdog. He heard it start to scream, first in rage at the rapidly-thickening vines turning hard and wooden around its limbs, then in pain. It scrabbled at the sand, which started to darken and clump as it thrashed. The sound of tearing skin and wrenching muscle was amplified by the spell over the arena, and he heard Lance swallow hard by his ear.

Bone began to add to the nauseating cacophony of violence, cracking and separating as the skin on the wemic's furred back began to distort and bulge. One of its back legs was clearly entirely out of joint, the other one close to dislocation, and one of its front paws was a mangled, red-brown pulp in the wrap of vine. The creature's screams choked off with a wet sound, and Shiro saw something move against the inside of the skin where the two torsos joined.

“She's avoiding major organs,” he distantly heard Haxus comment, “I had no idea she was this upset.”

He dragged his eye to Katie's face. She didn't look upset. Her mouth was twisted slightly downwards in an uncomfortably familiar grin, and her amber-hazel eyes took in every agonized movement of her dying opponent with more enthusiasm than Shiro wanted to see. She stalked towards the pinned creature, spreading her hands.

“Still want to mock the little girl?” She asked, over the sharp sounds of whatever magic she was working with the no-longer-sunflowers breaking the ribs in one of its torsos. “Still want to say she's playing around? Still want to tell people she's a child, can't handle the harsh reality?” She grabbed it by the jaw, yanking its face down to hers with bared teeth. “Still think I don't have what it takes?”

It was the human torso being systematically broken apart, Shiro realized, watching the coil of vegetation writhe beneath the hairy chest in front of Katie. He saw something large press hard, and she held out the hand she wasn't holding the wemic's face with, casually, as if waiting for change at a grocery counter. The sound of the skin splitting was nearly deafening, even in comparison to the heavy pulse in Shiro's ears, and he saw the vines that burst through curl back, spreading the wound wider and dumping a pile of writhing entrails at Katie's feet. He could see one of the creature's hearts, fluttering, and realized belatedly that at least one spell around the arena granted better sight to the audience.

Something round and dark obscured the heart from view, and the wemic made another small, choked sound. Katie shook her head as though to silence it, and the sound of the organ being torn free made Shiro's entire body flinch. The wemic wheezed, and he remembered that the species carried a heart in each torso and could technically survive losing the top one.

The sunflower bud pushed out of the gaping chest wound, dripping blood into Katie's palm, turned upwards, and dropped the still heart into her hand as it bloomed towards the overhead lights. She held it up, showing it to the audience, and Shiro took a moment to acknowledge that at least part of the roaring in his ears came from the stands.

The back legs began to tear free; more blood stained the sand and began clumping. Katie turned her back and walked away, leaving her opponent to water the ravening plant with its slowing heartbeat. She walked over to the rail with the dripping heart in her hand and offered it to Haxus through the faintly humming wires of the chain link cage with a smile. The thin chimera leaned down to take it with his teeth, then reached up to pull it free like a bitten apple. “What,” he said quietly, the words barely picked up by the arena's spell, “I only get the one?”

She gave him a brilliant smile and waved her bloodied hand to the dying wemic behind her. The creature's lower body burst wide in a spray of red and black and grey, and another flower bud lifted high, losing shattered vertebrae along the sand as it sped to bloom into her palm. A second, larger heart dwarfed her delicate fingers, and she offered that to Haxus, as well. “Greedy. Don't say I never gave you anything.”

“I would never.” He accepted the heart with his free hand this time and inclined his head.

Sendak raised both his hands; the lights in the arena pulsed. “The Lady Green has won!” His declaration echoed through the arena, and the crowd cheered.

Katie turned away from them to accept the praise from the stands, hands out wide as she walked slowly back across the sandy floor toward her exit. She didn't even give Shiro a second glance.

Once the door closed behind her, Shiro couldn't tear his eyes away from the stained stalks and the bright yellow blooms. He tensed when a team of five in maintenance gear entered to begin cutting down the plants and carting the remains away in wheelbarrows. It wasn't until one of the crew approached that he realized that the crowd in the stands had cleared, and the four of them were the only ones still standing by the rail. He looked down at his hands. He was still clutching the foil from his meal.

“They didn't go as deep this time, Commander,” the maintenance worker informed Sendak with a salute, “but we're going to have to scour away another layer of stone again.”

“One of these days she's going to break through to the next cavern down and cause a collapse,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you, Domar, proceed.” He watched the other go, then turned to look at Shiro. “Are you all right, Agent Shirogane?”

“I'm--” He looked back, to where the crew was beginning to shovel bloody sand into the wheelbarrows and dig the tops of the roots of the vegetation free. “I had no idea,” he said quietly.

Haxus' snort made his jaw clench. “That much was obvious.”

“Be gentle,” Sendak admonished the other softly, “this is her Taka.” He smiled almost tenderly when Haxus responded with a grumble. “Lance?”

“I'm okay,” the demon assured, nodding. He kept his arms around Shiro comfortingly. “I've seen—well, not like, worse, exactly, but. I dunno. Similarly bad, I guess? The sunflowers are a weird touch.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agreed, distracted.

“Hey!” The voice was sudden, accompanied by the thunder of feet on the stairs, and Shiro felt himself tense despite Lance's embrace. Keith caught himself up against the rail on the other side of Haxus, grinning at the skinny chimera. “You gonna really eat both of those?”

The thin male scowled at him. “Yes,” he said shortly, popping the last bite of the smaller heart into his mouth, “if you wanted something, you should have asked her.”

“I was trying to get her attention, but _somebody_ gave her cuttings from a dead plant she's been trying to get a sample of for almost a decade so he got all the good bits,” Keith leaned over the rail, perching precariously on the bottom rung, to lean around Haxus and wave. “Hey Shiro, hey Lance. Hunk's not here, right?”

“Uh, no, I am never bringing Hunk to this,” the demon said firmly.

“I think he'd enjoy the market part,” Keith pointed out, still eyeing the second heart in Haxus' hand, “all the foods from cultures everywhere, human and Extrahuman alike, all the handmade goods.”

“Yeah, but the arena'd give him fits,” Katie's voice was bright from the stairs behind them, and Shiro tensed instead of turning to look at her, “so maybe bring him on a night it isn't running. Stop trying to steal Haxus' present, Opossum, I bagged you a liver.” There was the soft crinkle of plastic, then the quiet exclamation of, 'fuck yeah, chewy!' from Keith.

“Oh, that would be a cute top if I hadn't just watched you kill a guy with sunflowers,” Lance said a little haltingly.

“Sorry, it's what I had on last time I fought, so it's what was here clean for me to change into.” Katie sidled around to wedge herself between Shiro and Haxus, and leaned around to smile up at the cerberus. “You mad, Taka?”

He dragged in a breath, ready to yell and growl and scold her for every overwhelming mixed emotion rushing through his veins, but her tiny, understanding smile replaced every ounce of negative thought with flooding relief. He pulled away from Lance to wrap his arm around her and yank her into a hug. “You scared the hell out of me and I am so proud of you and don't you ever pull that shit on me again,” he whispered into her hair.

“No promises.” He heard her laugh a little wetly into his shoulder as her arms came up to hug him back. “Pretty much how I feel about your whole ass job, though,” she muttered, “and finding you in a puddle of your own blood on the floor of your hospital room.”

“You were proud of me for that?” He joked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I mean, it's exactly the kind of stubborn dumbass thing I would do, so yeah, it's a weird kind of pride, but it's there.” She rubbed her face on his oversized shirt. “And...and what you did for Lulu. That. I'm proud of that but you scared the hell out of me and don't you ever do it again.”

“No promises.” He cupped the back of her head and gently hugged it to his shoulder, then straightened up with a sigh. “Lemme see this cute—please tell me no company sells a shirt with sunflowers placed like that.”

She grinned, wiping at her face. “Nah, they're patches, Opossum stitched them on with the green.” She pointed to the playfully erratic green stitching around the large sunflowers on either tiny breast. Shiro caught sight of a glint beneath the edge of the white crop top, and leaned back a little with a frown. “Yes, Taka, that's a belly button ring, no I didn't discuss it with Matt beforehand because no, it's not real. It's magnetic, because we have yet to find anything that can puncture my skin.”

“It's cute,” he assured, gently ruffling her hair, “as your honorary big brother, though, I have to say I wish those pants came up a little higher because I can see where you stop waxing your happy trail.”

She made a face. “I'm a blonde, most people don't notice.”

“Besides, she has cute hips,” Haxus pointed out, licking his lips and trying not to drip blood all over his black shirt, “delicate. Feminine. Why wouldn't she show them off?”

“Yeah, not sure I'm liking this commentary from the peanut gallery,” Shiro eyed him suspiciously.

“No one's forcing you to listen.”

“Oh no, you don't get to be judgey about Haxus talking about how cute and dainty and feminine I am,” Katie wagged a finger in Shiro's face, “I've had to listen to you and Matt flirt, and you're a lot less subtle about it.”

Shiro tried not to laugh at the mildly alarmed look Haxus gave the back of Katie's head. “There is nothing subtle about cutting out someone's hearts and hand-feeding them to your—whatever—in front of a stadium full of people.” He watched the look on Haxus' face fall a little closer to some kind of panic.

“I guess not,” the blonde agreed thoughtfully, nodding. Her mouth twitched at the tiny noise that eked its way from Haxus throat, then turned to grin up at him, hands stuffed into the oversized pockets of her cargo pants. “Did you think I didn't notice that you combined 'human girls like flowers,' with 'nerds of all species like hyperfixation presents,' as a way of trying to tell me you like me?”

He stared down at her, eyes wide, then looked around and lowered his head. “I'd rather not have this as a public discussion.”

“Okay, then we'll talk about it later,” she said with a smile, taking the box of extinct flower samples back from him, “or never, whichever.”

“Never sounds...nice.”

“Never it is.” She turned her attention back to Shiro. “I talked with some of the guards, and they gave me coordinates for the best access path to the aquifer.” When he leaned back and glanced up at Sendak, she scowled. “You and Lulu said it was poisoned, right? So we're going to check it out, and fix it.” She nodded when he did.

“The Firstborn is going to need several days' rest before she can make such a trek,” Sendak interjected gently, “and supplies will have to be gathered for all of you. Text me a list of everyone going and their needs, I'll have my people put it together.”

She gave him a tight grin. “Thank you, Commander. Always good to know you're up for doing the right thing.”

“It's occasionally tedious,” he deadpanned, “but it has its perks.” He gave Shiro a faint smile, and the cerberus found himself leaning forward again, all irritation with the chimera forgotten.

“Gross, ew, stop, we're exploring the rest of the Night Market and you're not stealing Taka to have sex with him.” Katie grabbed Shiro's hand and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on; there's a vendor here tonight who carries what they claim is phoenix feathers and I want to taste them.”

Lance leaned down a little. “You eat phoenix feathers?”

“Dude, no. But if you put them on your tongue and they taste like campfire smoke, they're fake. If they taste like magnesium, they're real.” She waved over her shoulder to Haxus and Sendak, waiting until they were a little ways away from the arena before she released Shiro's hand. “Dude, Taka, seriously—he's nine feet tall and five feet across and you literally got out of the hospital this morning.”

“Yeah, and wouldn't you know it, I didn't get to have sex the _whole time I was there_.” Shiro reached back and hooked his arm back around Lance's waist, enjoying the way the demon's tail coiled comfortably across his hips. “I'm all wolf right now, Katie, and I went into that feeling a little itchy. I'm going to be impossible to deal with until I--”

“Did you want to have sex?” Lance asked politely, leaning down a little.

He felt like the words pushed all the air out of his lungs, and snapped his gaze up to the rich blue eyes. “Yes,” he managed, a little hoarsely, fingers sliding under the hem of the demon's loose shirt, “absolutely. Indefinitely. Perpetually.” He snapped out of it a little, realizing he'd been stepping back towards the shadows between two stalls and pulling Lance with him by the hips. “Sorry, you were offering, right?”

“Absolutely,” the demon assured, a little breathless, “indefinitely. Perpetually.” He slid his hands carefully over Shiro's chest.

Katie made a disgusted noise. “Gross. C'mon, Opossum, let's let them catch—dude. Keith.”

The sharp tone pulled him from his wide-eyed stare at the two visibly figuring out how to best undress each other. “Sorry,” he muttered, bringing his baggie full of wemic liver back up to his face and tearing off a bite as he trundled after her, “they just...look like they're gonna bang _right there_.”

“It's a thought,” Shiro breathed, “but at the very least we should--”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, guiding him backwards into the shadows.

“Hey, wait, you guys.” Keith paused in following Katie; she stopped to wait for him just out of earshot. “Where are you gonna get lube?”

The demon lifted his head from taking stock of Shiro and blinked at him, then laughed. “Dude, I'm a demon,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat bottle, “I always carry lube.”

Purple eyes widened, then the Extrahuman nodded a little jerkily. “O-oh. Yeah. All right. That's—I'm gonna go now. See ya.” He scurried off to catch up with Katie.

Lance returned his attention to Shiro emphatically by ducking down and propelling him backwards with the force of his kiss.

 


	14. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Lance finally have sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can be skipped if you'd like to avoid porn.

Lance tasted a little like vanilla, Shiro decided, feeling overwhelmed by the flavor and the faintly cool press of the demon's lips against his. He didn't stop walking backwards until he felt rough stone against his back, until the full of Lance's weight pushed against him. The pressure forced the air from his lungs in a quiet sound he'd never heard himself make before. He tipped his head back slightly; realized Lance's height let him follow the motion easily, and lifted a hand to gently push a finger between their mouths. The blue of Lance's eyes glowed with the intensity of a summer sea at this distance, and it took Shiro a moment to remember what he had been going to say.

“Uhm,” he shook his head, then smiled, “isn't this hard on your back?”

Both the demon's brows lifted for a moment in surprise, but Shiro's attention was drawn to the little crinkles that formed at the corners of those blue-blue eyes. “You know Hunk is only like, an inch shorter than you, right?”

“...Maybe. I'm just--”

“Shiro,” Lance lowered himself so that he was straight upright on his knees, which put him easily face-to-face with the hunter, “you said you were 'itchy.'” He cupped the older man's face, gently running his thumbs over his cheekbones. Shiro didn't even blink at the claws dangerously close to his eyes. “I've got a few ideas on what we can do to scratch that itch, but I'm don't intend to have my mouth free for a lot of talking, yeah?”

Another verbal punch to the solar plexus that sent heat through his entire nervous system. “Oh.” He found his head moving without thinking about it; an eager nod that made him feel like he was a cadet again. He shivered when Lance leaned in to kiss him again, losing track of time in the demon's mouth and the faint taste of vanilla. His fangs were not as sharp as they appeared, but they were heavy and hot where they scraped over Shiro's tongue and lips. Lance's hands slid down to his neck, and he felt a low whine slide out as he tried to press his throat into the long thumbs.

The kiss broke only slightly—Shiro could still taste Lance's breath between his parted lips, panted in the flavor as though the sweet air couldn't fill him fast enough. He heard a muffled rumble from the demon, felt himself whine again, and realized he was letting the sound out slightly to his left. When Lance pressed back in to kiss him again, he could feel the demon's smile against his teeth, and those long fingers tightened around the front of his neck.

He pushed into it, fingers coming up to tangle in Lance's silken hair—and hell, it was softer than it looked, wrapped around his fingers like it was welcoming them home—as the taller man stole his breath and kept him from replacing it in a deliciously sweet cycle that pulled sparks into Shiro's eyes. When he felt his instincts start to rise in the base of his spine, he gently tugged on Lance's hair, and the demon loosened his grip. He leaned back to let Shiro gasp for air, dropping his mouth to the side of his neck and letting his hands slide carefully down over the hunter's shoulders—the touch to the ragged tear was breeze-light, making him shiver in anticipation of pain that didn't come—and across the planes of his back.

In contrast to the cool feel of his lips, Lance's tongue was hot on Shiro's neck, sliding over his rapid pulse and the thin lines of old, silvered scars with a casual kind of possession that made Shiro want to lie down and roll onto his back. He felt Lance find the new scar with his tongue, and the drag of his tongue gentled. The demon pulled back to place a delicate kiss over the spot, then leaned back further to pop the snaps of Shiro's too-big shirt apart. He eyed the slightly-soft muscles with a little grin, then ducked his head down again.

Shiro's head slammed back into the stone behind him, and he wasn't entirely sure if the sparks in his vision were the impact or the scrape of Lance's heavy teeth so very close to where his shoulder dissolved into a mangled mess of fresh scar tissue. The anticipation shot through him again, but the only feelings that followed were the hot drag of the demon's mouth downward, the cooling draft over wet skin, and the high whine in the back of his throat that interrupted his breathing. He slid his hand further up the curve of Lance's head, felt the soft wrinkle of flesh at the base of one horn, and dragged his fingers along the thick bone. His eyes fluttered open to look; the shimmer of icy blue in the black bone between his fingers gave off an eerie glow, and he felt his stomach drop at the soft, ethereal shine it cast over his skin.

Lance tipped his face upward, catching his eye. There was a question there, and Shiro shook his head faintly in response, simply running his fingers over the curve of dark bone back and forth, until his fingers buried in the soft hair again. The demon smiled against him, pressing a kiss over his heart—he felt his pulse flutter at the gesture, wasn't this supposed to just be about sex, why couldn't Lance play fair at all?—before turning his head and shattering any sense of Shiro's self-control by flicking the tip of his tongue over one flat nipple.

He barely had time to see past the dizzying image of Lance licking at his chest before the demon wrapped his chill lips around the dark circle of his nipple and applied suction. His hand tightened in the silky brown strands between his fingers, and he felt his head drop forward limply, as though every muscle in his neck gave out at the touch of the demon's mouth. He panted wordlessly, feeling the restless whine pull out of himself and hearing it in his left ear like a low drone. His hips rolled forward in a restless demand for more. He'd long since lost track of the bustle of the market not ten feet away.

The suction pulled away without being released, towing his chest forward with Lance's movement as though the beautiful creature had his teeth in Shiro's spine. He pulled free with a sharp popping sound and collapsed back against the stone again, boneless and unable to make his body move. With a tremendous effort, he managed to shape the constant, panting whine in the back of his throat into something resembling Lance's name.

One of the blue-skinned man's hands slid up over his trembling stomach, and Lance's long legs folded further as he lowered himself further down. His tongue traced the dip of Shiro's navel, and he let out a delighted purr against the damp skin when the whine turned into a sharp yip. He popped the snap on Shiro's jeans with his other hand and dragged the zipper down, sitting back to watch the hunter's body spasm with the silent click of each metal set of teeth. When Lance lifted his eyes to look up at Shiro's face again, he caught his tongue between his teeth in a wicked grin.

Shiro's face was flushed a rich red, his mouth open, and the gleam of saliva barely not escaping the curve of his lower lip. His head hung limply between his shoulders, his hand twitching in Lance's hair in entirely involuntary movements. His pupils were blown wide, and it was clear even from the low angle that he'd given up all control of the situation to the demon at his feet. His hips jerked forward at the long, clawed fingers carefully working his jeans down over the sharp jut of his hipbones without scratching his half-hard shaft with the open zipper.

Lance enjoyed the view, gently stroking the length of Shiro's shaft while he made strangled little sounds and shoved his hips recklessly at the demon's warm, slick palm. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, not entirely certain Shiro had heard him until he saw the blown grey eyes attempt to focus on his face. The hunter's mouth twitched, and Lance realized that he was trying to muster the coherency to smile. “Oh, you're just. You're totally all apart, aren't you. Big bad demon hunter all come to pieces.” He leaned forward, watching Shiro's eyes listlessly attempt to track him, and settled the bridge of his nose against the curve of one hard hipbone. He locked his gaze on the anxiously shifting dick in his hand and wet his lips. “Putty in my hands,” he whispered, then laughed.

Managing to grind his teeth together and pull enough of his mind into focus to be frustrated, Shiro let out another hiss of Lance's name and tightened his fingers in the demon's hair.

“Easy,” the lanky creature scolded gently, but took pity on him and leaned in to let the next thrust push the first third of Shiro's length into his mouth. The choked mewl it dragged from the HOPE agent's mouth made Lance let out a satisfied hum through his nose. He settled his hands on Shiro's hips but didn't restrain him, letting him rut against the curl of the demon's tongue with the smallest, raggedly helpless sounds escaping the back of his throat.

Lance rolled his eyes up again, waving the tips of his fingers in a greeting when he saw Shiro staring blankly down at him, but the human couldn't manage more than a twitch of his lips and a fluttery blink in acknowledgment. He dragged the tip of his tongue around the crown of the hunter's foreskin, swallowing the liquid he gathered with a pleased hum. Delighted by the totally melted look on Shiro's face, he dragged his claws lightly over the soft skin of the hunter's lower abdomen. It gave him another new sound to savor, torn from the depths of the human's throat.

Calloused fingers twisted in his hair again, and he pulled back to give Shiro a moment to catch his breath. “You okay?” He asked quietly, gently stroking the human's hip with a thumb. “Breathe, Shiro, that's it.”

“Please,” he whispered raggedly, “Lance, want--”

The demon smiled, holding up two fingers that gleamed wetly in the moving shadows. He'd managed enough control over his form to retract his claws on those two fingers, and Shiro shuddered to think how much effort it must have taken him. “Already on it, beautiful,” his hand disappeared from view, and Shiro jumped when he felt the slick skin touch the crease of his thigh and slide back, searching. He shifted his feet apart, let the demon's clean hand stabilize him as he started to tip sideways, and leaned against the stone again. Lance's finger prodded him gently, and he let out a quiet whine, trying not to squirm down against it with limited success.

Shiro felt his mind sliding back under the haze that Lance's blue eyes created, and gave in with a sigh. He'd spent almost every moment so far in Dryreef thrumming with sexual tension, he knew he wouldn't have been able to be a considerate top even if he'd tried, and he found enough mental capacity to silently thank whomever was responsible for Lance's existence. His muscles felt like pudding; he wasn't entirely certain if he had knees, much less if they were holding him up, but he was acutely aware of the finger sliding easily into him and twisting to make itself at home.

Lance watched the cerberus' head drop again as if someone had hung a mountain on it, and the sound he made held very little breath for the volume. He dropped his eyes, taking in the way Shiro's cock twitched with every twist of his finger. He pressed a kiss to the heaving belly, humming in the back of his throat at the faint pull to his hair the human tried to use to communicate instead of attempting to be verbal again. “I know,” he assured, licking up a trickle of sweat that made its way down Shiro's ribs, “I know.” He pressed the second finger in alongside the first, open mouth taking in the way the older man first froze, then pushed down against the wider intrusion.

It was going to take him weeks to be hungry again, he was sure, with all the heat and want and lust that Shiro was practically pouring down his throat. Every wave of it made his wings shudder, and he found himself unable to actually swallow all of it, with each wave, so he let some of it simply wash over him. He heard someone pause by the edge of the shadows, and indicated they move along with a hard flick of his tail. Shiro whimpered; all of his attention snapped back to the gorgeous man squirming and flushed on his fingers.

He pressed another open-mouthed kiss on Shiro's hip, letting out a shaky breath. He'd wanted to see the hunter come undone from the first time he'd seen him walking towards the ruins in the desert; an avatar of death bathed in candlelight and offering peace. Every muscle on Shiro's body was defined, even through the button-down office shirts he'd worn, and when Lance had seen him in Adam's basement in nothing but a loose tank top and tight jeans, he thought maybe Hunk had crashed the motorcycle and he'd been happily dying by the side of the road. A couple of weeks of forced rest had softened him only a little; just enough that it took pressure to trace the hard muscles as they twitched beneath his sweaty skin.

Some part of Lance's mind insisted that Shiro needed more body fat to be healthy. He pushed it away for later and carefully spread his fingers.

The rush of want that burst from the cerberus felt like being drenched by a crashing wave; Lance could feel it from the roots of his hair to the tip of his tail, and shuddered. He stifled a moan by burying his face in Shiro's stomach, whispered something encouraging—he'd lost track of what he was saying, wasn't entirely sure it was English any more—and focused on twisting and spreading his fingers this way and that. He nipped at the skin beneath his mouth when he found Shiro's prostate, the shock skittering up his arm like electricity. He felt Shiro try to drop down harder, realized there was no way the human's legs would hold him up like that with the way he was shaking, and wrapped his unoccupied arm around Shiro's waist.

The petulant keen he let out when Lance pulled his fingers free in no way prepared the demon for the pout on that wide mouth. He hummed, leaning in to nip at the swollen lower lip—had Shiro been biting it? Was that how much noise he made when he was trying to be _quiet?—_ and soothe over it with a flick of his tongue. “Didn't you want me to fuck you?” He asked huskily, pressing their foreheads together. “I can go back to--” he was interrupted by a fractured whine from the older man and a weak shake of his head. “Okay. Up we go then, baby.” He stood, lifting Shiro around the waist and under the curve of his ass, and couldn't stop the stretch that worked its way up his spine and through his wings.

Shiro's eyes shifted over his shoulder, and Lance smiled at the look he gave his wings. He let out a dazed, pleased, murmur and let his hand slide to the back of Lance's neck. His legs shifted slightly, and Lance guided them into wrapping around his waist, using a little pressure to pin Shiro up between the stone wall and his body. “You ready?” He asked quietly, tipping his head down to get a look at Shiro's face.

The response he was given was a low whine to his right and a pointed squirm. He accepted the demand, pulling Shiro down as he leaned in closer and pressing himself into the waiting, trembling heat. He had to stop with just the head, mind swimming in the flood of both their pleasure washing over him and the feeling of Shiro's short nails puncturing his skin. He waited, panting, listening for the shuddering gasps to slide back into the high, demanding whines before he continued.

He was excruciatingly careful, pausing when it was clear that Shiro couldn't catch his breath, stroking the man's hair with his clean hand and murmuring praises in his ear, shifting further in when the human started squirming again. He stopped when Shiro made a noise that was almost a gag, and leaned back to look down at him in concern. “Too deep?” He asked gently, ready to pull back only to be surprised by the way the other man shook his head and settled his heels against the tops of his hips. He had just that amount of warning before Shiro tightened his legs and yanked him forward, shoving him the rest of the way until he could feel the warmth of Shiro's balls against his belly.

He was sure he wasn't speaking English that time, saw the stone beneath his hand spark as his palm slammed into the wall and clenched in an effort not to bury his claws into the hunter's scalp. He felt like the breath had been punched from his lungs, and he felt something hard and icy work its way out from his spine. He lifted his head to look down at Shiro, open-mouthed and silent, panting and shaken by his own sudden action. He smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of one closed grey eye, and wrapped his arm back around the older man's waist. “ _ **Ek nimet, om'a?**_ ” The language felt like it came from the same place as the cold feeling bleeding into the base of his spine.

He shifted forward, rolling his hips into Shiro's desperate grip and humming at the soft whine it pulled from the slightly-catatonic man in his grasp. He tipped his head slightly when the faint attempt at speech touched his ear, pausing to listen with an air of teasing politeness. “ _ **Nimal om ba, sha?**_ ”

“Ssssssaid,” Shiro's hand slid up the back of his bloodied neck and buried in his hair again, bonelessly pulling the demon's head down closer, “ _ **talédeyo.**_ ” He squirmed deliberately, giving the demon a loose grin as those blue-in-black eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Lance dropped his head, shifting his grip on Shiro again, and started moving. He lost himself in the human's sounds in his ear, in the tight heat swallowing him in his entirety, in the sharp nails digging into his scalp. He felt the icy feeling in his veins spread, pushing further from his core with each thrust, each heartbeat. Every time he tried to slow himself, tried to remind himself that the feast before him was Shiro and just out of the hospital, he felt the older man pull him in again with another of those mindless whines.

Some part of his mind shrieked that he was feeding too much. He was going to grow again, he was going to lose control--

He'd already lost control. He could taste Shiro's sweat on his tongue and it drove him forward, again and again, encouragement in every salty, trembling inch of flesh before him. The hand in his hair dropped to his shoulder, scrabbled for a moment, and he felt a splash of heat against his belly, the heavy coil of it down his throat. Shuddering, he forced himself to slow, then stop as Shiro quaked and choked beneath him. He waited, claws digging harder into the stone with the other hand gentle on the human's hip as Shiro stuttered his way back to something resembling focus.

“L'nce?” Almost his name, sweet and calming against the cold working its way up the back of his skull. “D'n stop.” He pulled a little at the demon's shoulder, barely able to exert the faintest control over his shaking muscles. “W'n.”

“I didn't—I don't want to hurt you,” the demon's voice was overlaid with a muffled series of whistles and clicks, and Shiro felt himself smile a little.

“I do.”

“Fffffuck.” Lance's pained smile was soft against his skin.

“Yeah.”

With a low purr in his chest, Lance resumed moving. He bucked when Shiro bit around his collarbone in an attempt to muffle the sloppy, overstimulated keening noise every thrust summoned from his very core. It bought him a moment of silence, so he did it again. And again, until all he heard from the human was a vague, choked clicking noise with each thrust. He felt the cold coil up in him and finally let it take over, dropping his head as he came inside Shiro with a throaty growl into his hair.

Shiro wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, leaned up against the—damned _freezing—_ wall with Lance's body weight holding him off the ground. He'd come a second time long before he'd been recovered enough, and was entirely certain that he was going to have a room full of regrets in the morning, but for the moment he couldn't feel much. His legs were numb—they always got that way when he did this—and his back was cold, but the heat pooling in his abdomen was more than enough to make him smile. He felt full; some part of his mind wondered if he could have chased this feeling any other time he'd been sent after a demon. He told himself it was just Lance, and knew he'd wonder about the insistence later.

He swallowed, tried to wet his lips, and blinked hazily at the bottle of water offered over his intact shoulder. A small creature perched on the stone, indefinable in the dark, and let out a small chirp, tapping his arm with the water bottle. He managed to move enough to accept it, whispered thanks that the lid was already off, and carefully sipped from the bottle, wetting his mouth and throat until Lance lifted his head. He offered the demon the bottle and was recovered enough to grin at the look of bleary confusion. “I think it was a gremlin. Helpful little things.”

“Must belong to one of the shopkeepers.” Lance's eyes flicked to the stall walls boxing them in, and Shiro felt blessed to see the faintly embarrassed look on the demon's face. The demon accepted the water and sipped carefully. “I'm...gonna...”

“Yeah.” Shiro took the bottle back and wrapped his arm over slim blue shoulders as Lance carefully pulled out, trying to suppress the hypersensitive shudder that worked its way up his spine. A thought skimmed the surface of his mind, and he buried his face in Lance's neck in an attempt to hide it.

“What is it?” The gentle tone made him come apart in a totally different way, and Shiro felt his laughter bubble up with an edge of hysteria.

“I was just thinking I wish I had a plug so I could keep you in me longer.” He couldn't lift his head while he said it, couldn't stop the giggles that accompanied it, and wondered if maybe there hadn't been something in the water after all.

He felt Lance swallow hard. “ _Meu deus_ ,” he muttered into Shiro's hair, “you don't stop, do you?”

“I guarantee you that if we were in my hotel room right now instead of a semi-public market, I would beg you to fuck me until you were satisfied,” encouraged by the low hum in his ear, he raised his head slightly, “even if I passed out first.” He laughed again, a little breathless, when Lance muffled more swearing against his bicep. He shivered, feeling the demon's fluids beginning to slip free from inside him and realizing just exactly how _cold_ the wall he was propped against felt. His ragged shoulder was starting to ache. He leaned forward, trying to put himself more firmly in the demon's arms and away from the chill, but stopped when he heard a faint ripping sound and realized his good shoulder was being held back by the sleeve of his oversized shirt. “Uh. Lance?”

“Hm?” One hand was drifting downwards, and Shiro had a giddy moment of thinking he was about to get fingered again but his own words spoiled it.

“I think you froze me to the wall?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ek nimet, om'a? -- Want this, was it?
> 
> Nimal om ba, sha? -- That was what, again?
> 
> Talédeyo -- Gods yes.


	15. Why Are There Always Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro explains the previous evening to a very angry Matt. Gary gives him a call, and Shiro has trouble focusing.

The hotel had kept the room perfectly clean and dust free while he'd been gone—some sweet soul had even gotten the soda stain out of the shirt he'd left soaking in the sink—but the air conditioning seemed cooler than he'd left it. He checked the setting; it was at the same temperature he usually used. He shook his head and blamed the chill that had soaked into his bones, turning the temp up two degrees.

The owners of the market stalls on either side of their trysting spot had been kind about their charges for the warming magics that had freed him from Lance's accidental burst of power, and the demon had been mortified, hardly managing the wherewithal to look him in the face during the whole ordeal. He had been delightfully persistent about proper aftercare, even trading a drop of blood for a numbing cream he'd diligently applied and tucked into Shiro's shirt pocket. Shiro hadn't had the heart to tell him that the blood of a well fed demon was worth a thousand times a two-ounce jar of numbing cream, or that he had a perfectly good jar of similar ointment in his bags. Keith and Katie had even been magnanimous about leaving the market earlier than planned.

He set the cream on the desk and turned to give his ride home a faint smile. Keith could hardly look him in the face, either, though Shiro wondered if that was because he was trying not to ask questions. “You've seen me here safe,” he assured the younger man, settling his hand on Keith's shoulder, “you go on home, now. Get some rest.”

“I should stay,” Keith said hurriedly, flicking a glance up at him and then away, “you just got out of the hospital and you're still recovering from--” his face scrunched up as he shook his head, “from what I did to you. Then you went and...I mean, you know Lance fed, right? He can't help it during sex, Hunk says--”

“I'm well aware that Lance fed, and also well aware that I absolutely should not have taken a foot long dick all the way to the base after not even having been fingered for over two weeks.” He patted Keith's shoulder again when the Extrahuman made a strangled noise and flushed almost purple all the way to his hairline. “Sorry, Keith. I'm very tired and about to be very sore and I'm not going to be great company when I wake up.”

“It's not about you being great company,” _there_ was the surly tone he was coming to realize was the norm for the violet-eyed man, “it's about making sure you don't die from complications from self-beheading and demon dick today. Just—Shiro, I know I haven't given you any reason to trust me and I know that it sounds stupid to have the person who ripped off your arm make sure you're safe--”

“I'm not awake enough to have this conversation,” the hunter announced abruptly, turning away and popping open his shirt, “stay, or don't. I need to sleep.” He got his jeans unsnapped and unzipped before he flipped back the covers of the inside bed and managed not to bounce off onto the floor as he threw himself onto his face. The last thought that crossed his mind was that he was growing awfully tired of Dryreef and all its complications.

The hotel room door's hydraulics made an unholy screal that woke him fractions of a second before the door slammed into the wall. He was upright in moments, jeans sliding down his hips as he squinted out into the afternoon sun. He heard his wolf snarling as his eyes focused in the bright light, pushing something small and dark away from between him and the door. Keith yelped as he was shoved to the side by a creature that looked like a cross between a weasel and a hyena the size of a Great Dane. He squinted at the narrow muzzle with too many teeth for its small size, and the way it bared all of them at the intruder.

The figure in the doorway hardly spared the strange creature a glance. “You let my fucking _sister_ fight in a goddamned _black market arena?!_ ”

Shiro felt something in him relax even as he recognized his life was in more danger than he'd originally assumed. The wolf sat and curled its bushy tail over its too-small feet, staring politely up at the blond in the doorway. The fluffy tail ticked once. “Matt--”

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking, taking her to a place like that? Do you know what those monsters could do to her? _Would_ do, for profit and power and without a second thought? You promised me, Taka, you _promised me_ you would look out for her if it came to that! You promised me when we were _cadets_. You said you'd do anything for her! Did that get fucking voided when we broke up, is that it? You what, you think it's okay to watch her get killed in some back alley--”

“Matt, stop.” Keith sounded like he was on the verge of angry tears, and Matt's eyes snapped to him as though he hadn't even noticed that his boyfriend was there. The younger man still couldn't take his eyes off the strange wolf.

“Come in, Matt,” Shiro said quietly, flicking his eyes over the blond's shoulder to indicate the small crowd of curious neighbors choosing that very moment to 'get ice,' “and close the door. Give me a chance, and I will tell you how hard I tried to get someone to stop it, and I will tell you how totally unnecessary it is for you to be freaking out about Katie's safety, and I will even tell you how fucking stupid you are for thinking that someone recovering from what I have been should have, what, thrown himself into the arena to defend her? I'd have been a liability at best.” He sat back down on his bed, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins like electricity. The wolf rose, claws clicking on the floor as it approached, laid its head on his knee, and sighed.

“Better you die than she does,” Matt told him sharply, stepping in and closing the door behind him. Shiro eyed the dent in the wall with a sigh of his own, settling his hand on the wolf's head.

“I'm not disputing that, but the arena is surrounded by a dome of some kind of charged chain-link fencing. I don't think I could have gotten through it in few enough pieces to have done anything—the wires were just far enough apart to accommodate something about as big as a wemic's lower heart. I begged Sendak to put a stop to it.”

“ _Sendak?!_ ” Matt drew himself up again, but Shiro's flat look made him pause and bring his voice back down. “Why in the hell was Katie anywhere near that--”

“Because his other half is in charge of scheduling the arena matches, and Katie asked him to put her in,” Shiro ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at his face, grimacing at the faint stubble along the line of his jaw. The wolf sighed again. “Matt, her opponent didn't stand a chance and everyone but him and me knew it. She--” he saw Keith's head come up sharply; just a little, but enough to make him change his sentence, “you told me, she's stronger than you, and indestructible. She left that arena without a scratch on her.”

“That's the _point_ , Takashi,” the blond insisted, pulling Keith against his chest almost absently, “physically, sure, but what if her opponent had had magic? And even if they didn't, what if one of those black market--”

“Night Market.” Was the firm correction from the bed. The wolf whuffed softly, horizontally-slit pupils locking with Keith's violet stare.

“What?”

“It's not illegal, Matt, just exclusive. Extrahumans and their chosen guests only. It's not a black market.” He shifted the way he was sitting and suppressed a grimace; the numbing cream had begun to wear off in his sleep. He caught Keith's eye, pulling it from the wolf's silver gaze, and the smaller man gave him a faint nod, reaching out to swipe the cream from the desk and toss it to him. “Now, gimme a minute.” He got to his feet and slowly made his way to the bathroom, pointing to the wolf to stay where it was. He made sure the door was firmly closed behind him and the water in the sink was running before he got himself ready for a longer conversation. He heard Keith and Matt murmuring out in the main room and shook his head. “I have got to call HQ and get reassigned,” he muttered to himself. He had more to investigate here, though, not because Dryreef was his jurisdiction but because he needed to know what was poisoning the water here, and who had done so. He knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't let it go if he didn't see the mystery through to the end now. He knew Katie well enough to know she wouldn't let him.

He cleaned himself up and re-applied the cream with a sigh, careful to scoop up the correct amount the first time so he wouldn't lose feeling in more than one fingertip, then flushed the toilet and washed his hands, gathering up enough of his sense of self to face Matt in his current mood before he opened the door. “Okay. I think we're both calm enough to carry on a civil discussion now. Yeah?”

Matt sat on the other bed, cross-legged, with Keith tucked into the hollow of his legs. “Yeah, fine. Tell me about last night.”

“Last night, Katie got some advice from Sendak's other half on how to help Allura. It worked. We went to the Night Market to...thank him, I guess. She said Sendak wanted to meet me. I don't...” he looked away, leaning against the wall with a huff, “I don't entirely remember how we got down there. Probably a security precaution on humans. Anyway, we met with Sendak and--” he thought of the fae commander's hypnotizing eye, the sharp way he smelled, and the way both had made him feel like his mind was drifting enthusiastically away from his body. He shook his head, feeling himself flush a little. “Katie wandered off while I was talking to him. She'd made it pretty clear she was familiar with the Night Market, so I didn't think anything of it.”

“So she'd been there before,” Matt's voice was almost a growl. His arms tightened around Keith, who squeaked. The wolf lifted its head.

“Yeah. Next thing I knew, Lance was running back--”

“The demon was there, too?”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” He managed to keep his tone even.

“Sorry.” The word sounded like it was pulled from the roots of Matt's teeth.

“Lance ran back to tell me that Katie signed up for the arena so we booked it. We got to the rail and she looked like she could have just been digging grease from under her nails after school, leaning against the wall like nothing was going on. I told Haxus—Sendak's partner—to get her out of there and he looked at me like I was crap stuck to the bottom of his shoe. I _begged_. He said she'd demanded to go in there, made him scramble to find her a fight. Sendak said he wasn't going to cancel the fight, and then her opponent came in. A wemic, large for its people, standard gold, covered in scars. Haxus said it was an arena champion from another area. She--”

Keith shot him another look, and held his hand out to the wolf to cover the turn of his head. The wolf politely sniffed his fingers, then tipped to offer a tiny ear for scratching, which the brunette carefully administered.

“She killed it. Broke its bones, ripped its hearts out, and fed them to a fan. So you tell me, Matt—you think your sister can maybe handle herself?” Shiro felt his spine relax and gave Keith a faint smile while the wolf drooled on the floor.

Matt stared at him for almost twenty seconds before dragging in a sharp breath. “Yeah, okay,” he acknowledged the story, wrinkling his nose, “but what's with the weird dog? He looks like an oversized--”

“Honshū wolf, yeah. You heard about the Night Market and you didn't hear about my wolf?”

“I—heard about the arena match from someone at the farmer's market this morning. Overheard. I saw red. Couldn't believe you'd let her put herself in that kind of situation.”

“I really tried,” Shiro said gently, “but trying to stop Katie is like asking a tornado to turn left.”

“Wait,” Keith lifted his head and leaned it back to look up at his boyfriend, “if you overheard about Katie being in the arena then how did you know Shiro was there?”

“She left dinner with our parents early last night, said she was leaving to help him with something.” Matt waved a hand. “The wolf?”

“Yeah, where was it? I didn't see it at all last night, and I have a little bit of thermal vision.” Keith squirmed a little and looked down when Shiro studied him closely, muffling a squeak when Matt pulled him back in response. “I mean, it's not great but I can usually tell when something's _there._ ” He leaned forward again to scratch the wolf's head, and Matt quirked a brow at Shiro over the length of his back. “You've got a really good invisibility instinct, huh buddy?” He asked the wolf affectionately.

“Actually,” Shiro cleared his throat, “he's me.”

The younger man froze, fingers locked in a claw-shape in the thick ruff of fur on the back of the wolf's neck. “What.” The impending panic in his voice made Shiro lift a hand and offer him a reassuring smile.

“I'm something called a cerberus. It means, among other things, that I can manifest--”

“Your soul, right, Katie said it was huge, though? Like, she said the heads were as big as a two-seater hoverbike.”

“It's a projection of my soul, Keith. It's as big or small as I need it to be. We're inside, so he's relatively small. And the door was open, so only one head.” Shiro tipped his head; the wolf mimicked the action, letting the fingers in its ruff slide across a myriad of old scars. The hunter flinched when they scraped the tender, new ridge, and gave Keith another smile when the younger man yanked his hand back with a hasty apology. He turned his attention back to Matt, whose face was somewhere between blank and calculating. “Matt?”

“I remember our classes.” The blond said quietly. “Cerberi can affect the Divine—angel, demon, little god, it doesn't matter in the hands of a cerberus. They all die. Explains a lot.” He wrapped the arm not around Keith's waist up, across the front of his shoulders, and pulled him back from the wolf. “I take it the home office knows.”

“Not in as many words,” he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head, “and—and don't say it like that, like all we do is kill. That's not...that's not how it works, I don't think. It's not always lethal. Not necessarily lethal,” he corrected himself carefully, “it's a change thing. Cerberi render the Divine...mutable.”

“Killable,” Matt clarified softly.

“No, it's. It's not like that. Matt, I--” He dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, that is part of it. The immortal become vulnerable around me. But they also--”

“You knew that. You've known that. For years?”

“About three years now, yeah, but--”

“Your very presence makes the invulnerable vulnerable to harm, and you _stood by the railing while my sister fought a wemic?!_ ” Keith scrambled free of Matt's lap with a muffled yelp.

The worst part of it, Shiro reflected as he felt Matt's hands close around his neck, was that he'd never even raised his voice. He'd kept it mild and calm and contemplative, right up until it slid into the snarl Shiro felt in his belly. The wolf laid down and rolled onto its side, but Matt's attention was on Shiro proper. He settled his hand on one of Matt's wrists and stared up at his face as the blond shrieked down at him. Their eyes locked; Shiro's nose was full of the mild spice of Matt's soap. He stayed limp beneath the assault.

“You could have gotten her killed, you bastard! You could have made her weak! _Vulnerable!_ ” His arms shook with the effort of not tightening his grip, and Keith had to wrap himself around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him back. “ _You put her in danger!_ ”

Shiro's teeth snapped closed on the thought, and he felt his lips start to curl away from his teeth. The wolf began a snarl that ended in a whine. He saw Matt's eyes widen, then narrow. “I would never,” he whispered hoarsely. He howled when the hand Keith didn't manage to pull free instead moved to his mangled shoulder and dug in. The room spun. “Matt!”

“Admit it! You could have gotten her killed!”

“ _I would_ _ **NEVER!**_ ” The wolf sank its teeth into Matt's pants leg and yanked, pulling him back. He kept his grip on Shiro's shoulder until the last moment, blinding the bigger man with waves of white hot pain. Blood soaked into the too-big shirt and slid down Shiro's chest as he gasped for air once Matt was clear. The wolf's rolling growl filled the room. It took a few shaking, fragile moments before the room slid back into Shiro's focus. “If she had ever actually been in danger, I would have sent in the wolf,” he choked out, peeling off his shirt to wrap it clumsily over his bleeding wound, “I wouldn't have _had_ to send him. I told you when we were cadets, Matt, and I meant it—I would do almost anything for her. Including pissing off a fae commander for breaking his arena's rules. She was never in danger, one way or the other.”

He got to his feet, swaying, and the wolf came back to his side. Matt stared at him in shock; Shiro saw a trace of blood on his torn pants and scowled down at the wolf, who glowered right back up at Matt and swiveled back its tiny ears. “Do you think, just maybe, that your sister isn't who you think she is?” He saw _something_ , something _ugly_ , move under the blond's expression, and wilted slightly. “Get out,” he whispered, and the creature vanished. He raised his head to look back at Matt and Keith. “You, too. Get that cleaned and bandaged. Keith, take care of him.”

The younger man hesitated, hand on Matt's arm. “Shiro, you're--”

“Fine. I heal better when I'm not being fussed over. Go.” He put just enough tooth in the tone to get the Extrahuman moving; Keith hooked an arm around Matt and half-dragged him back out the door, which Shiro shut behind him.

He slumped down in the chair with a sigh, peeling back his shirt to look at the bleeding scar. Three perfect crescents from Matt's nails within his field of vision; presumably there were two more he couldn't see. “Bastard,” he muttered, shaking his head. He pulled out the small jar of numbing cream and used his numb finger to begin applying it on the scar tissue. His phone rang. “Answer on speaker.”

The line clicked open. “Damn boy thinks too loud,” he heard Gary grouse, and he couldn't stop the smile that sprang to his lips, “he says you're hurt again.”

“I'm fine, just...” he wiped his finger with a tissue and sat back in the chair with a sigh. “Just Matt and his theatrics.”

The big man grunted. “He try to kill you again?”

“He made a very dedicated effort not to, even though I probably deserved it. I'm okay, Gary. How's Allura?” He thought of the sea-scaled fae with an absent smile, turning the small jar in his hand. His shoulder was already feeling much better. He must remember to revisit the vendor before he left; the ointment in his kit wasn't half this effective.

“She's asleep. Has been since halfway through the car ride back to my place. Her apartment's one-bedroom, so we agreed she'd stay here so my staff and I can keep an eye on her.” He heard a soft grunt, and imagined the big man sprawled on a couch that probably cost as much as the entire hotel, big hands smoothing antique fabric, soft lips pulled in an irritated line--

Because he was letting his mind wander. He cleared his throat. “That must be a culture shock to your staff, having someone there be nice to them.” He meant it as teasing, but it came out a little crisp, and he winced. “Sorry, that--”

“Don't.” He wasn't sure he'd heard Gary's voice go soft like that before, and shoved away the idle curiosity of what his name would sound like in that tone. “You're not sorry. You're tired and hurting a dozen different ways and you're nipping at anyone who offers a target.”

Shiro felt himself smile again, rubbing his thumb over the jar he fiddled with. “I thought you couldn't read me, telepath.”

Another grunt. His tone may have been more flirtatious than he'd intended. “Can't read your mind. Doesn't mean I'm stupid. I'll tell Allura you asked about her when she wakes up.” He paused, and Shiro heard a long, slow exhale over the line that wasn't quite a sigh. “Lance's friend, he's been doing research on you,” the words were almost reluctant, and slightly pained, “he's found out a lot. More than a basic rifling through your dossier. He's telling Lance what he found.”

His stomach dropped. His mind reeled with bloody images of past hunts. Lance would never speak to him again. The thought brought tears to his eyes; he blinked them away in confusion and cleared his throat. “Do you know who told him what wasn't in my file?”

“I don't want to dig for it, so no.” There was a thoughtful pause, and he heard the rustle of fabric; tried not to picture the muscular man uncrossing and crossing his legs, surrounded by opulence and not noticing a bit of it. “Do you?”

It took him a moment to pull his mind back again, and he wondered—Sendak had said the wolf was unaffected by the poison in the water, so why was he so distracted by Iverson's voice? Why couldn't he pull his mind away from the desire to curl up against the bigger man's belly and sleep without keeping one ear cocked for danger? He shook himself. “I have an idea. Thanks for checking on me, Gary. Sorry Keith screamed at you.”

Grunt. “Telepathy's the only way I know that kid has a brain, some days.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Shiro stared at his phone, then blew out a breath and let his head fall back a little, staring up at the bland ceiling. “Damnit, Ryou...”

 


	16. Internet Strangers Are Totally Trustworthy, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk and Lance discuss what Hunk has uncovered and been told of Shiro's past. Hunk sexts Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emoji conversation was helped immensely by Leadernovaandthemacabre! Could not have figured out how Keith and Hunk's sexting worked without them!

The sound of Hunk's footsteps on the stone steps warned Lance that the engineer was unhappy. He flicked his wings nervously and began fussing with the nest of fabric on the floor. His shoulders were nearly up to his ears when he heard Hunk take the last step. The smell of fries made him peek hopefully over his shoulder. “Hi?” He offered in a small, uncertain voice.

The big man looked him over for a long moment, frowning, then set down the crate of promisingly grease-stained brown paper bags and held out his arms. “I'm not _mad_ at you,” he informed the demon, as Lance practically sprang into his embrace, “I'm scared _for_ you.” He buried his face in the seated man's hair and felt his tail curl around one ankle. “Lance, I just—I looked him up. I got into HOPE's files--”

He felt the Cuban jerk in his arms. “You hacked into HOPE? Hunk, that's so dangerous! What if they found out, what if they--”

“Hey,” he sounded a little offended, and Lance pressed his lips together, “I may not be a hyper-genius like Katie but I do know how to hack something and cover my tracks. Lance, listen, this guy, I know you think he's nice and great and everything, but he's _dangerous_. I mean like, hide-your-loved-ones dangerous. Do you know? Did Katie tell you? Lance, he's done such terrible things. He's killed so many demons, and according to his files he's been sent after angels and little gods, too.”

“That's ridiculous,” the demon leaned back to shake his head up at him, “the Divine are immortal. Sort of. That's what Allura said. We can only be killed by each other, and Shiro's no Divine.”

“Lance,” Hunk bent his head and kissed the demon's forehead, then tipped his head to the crate of food, “eat, okay? I'll explain what I found out.” He released his friend and sat on the bottom step, running his fingers roughly though his hair and dropping the bandanna he kept his bangs tied back with onto the floor. “Why don't you tell me about last night while I try to find a starting point?”

“Uhm,” Lance pulled out the first bag, digging through it in delight and shoving a handful of fries into his mouth, “we. Well. Apparently Allura's been holding a glamour over the whole town because the aquifer is tainted with some kind of poison that's been slowly changing people into something that would freak them out and holding the spell has been killing her so she needed to be spotted on that but first she had to be fed someone's life so she wouldn't die because she'd already let herself get really close to burning out and--”

“Wait, woah, hold on.” He held out both hands to stem the tide of words. He smiled when Lance scooted closer with the crate and leaned against his legs. “Slow down. The water in town is poisoned?”

“Not like a lethal poison, I don't think, but yeah. Katie says we're all going to investigate it, her and Keith and Allura and Shiro and me. Do you want to come?”

“I mean, yeah, I'd like to know what's poisoning my town and changing people into 'things that will freak them out.' She didn't specify?”

“She was mostly unconscious, she didn't have a lot of coherency. She was dying.” He looked up at his friend's face, brows pulled together in concern. “She was all bundled up in this quilt and shivering and she looked really washed out. I mean, I've never seen her before, but she's almost as dark-skinned as you and she looked all ashy. Katie said she was supposed to have some glow to her hair and I didn't see any.” He plowed his way through the box of fries in his hand as he spoke.

“Man, all the pools in town are filled from the aquifer. I've literally been marinating in this poison stuff.” He grimaced and stretched out his legs. “Okay, so the local fae royal has been helping to prevent a citywide panic and it's been killing her. Then what?”

“Katie said her contact said that she had to be given someone else's life in starlight, so we took her outside and Shiro—oh, man, Hunk, you should have _seen it._ ” His voice turned slightly dreamy, and he sighed as his friend's fingers twined into his hair. “He called up this. This _dog._ But it wasn't just a dog. It was like...like Cerberus, from the old stories, you know, but like crossed with a hydra. It had a dozen heads and they were _huge_ , like, bigger than your bike huge. I could have ridden in the mouth of one of them. And one of them had a broken jaw, and the other heads they just—they turned on it, tore it clear off--”

“I don't need to hear all the details,” Hunk said hastily, swallowing a gag.

“No no, it's okay. I won't go any deeper than that.” Lance tipped up his head to kiss Hunk's fingers, then returned to eating from the crate. “Allura ate it, and it took her a moment to absorb it, and then she got up all—I mean, she still definitely looked sick but she was mad as anything and was yelling about wanting to die, and her hair definitely glowed a little, and then the big dog thing grew back its head and grew an extra one and the heads all changed shape and it got kind of scary--”

“Breathe,” the human soothed, stroking his hair again and pressing his face against the curve of one shimmering horn, “breathe, _manamea_ , it's okay.” He felt the taint tremble under the demon's skin slow, then stop as Lance relaxed into him again. “So it changed?”

“Yeah, like. Like it got...sharper. Not just the muzzles, but kind of...more feral? Anyway I got scared and Shiro sent it away. Told me the big thing, it was just him. Said he was a cerberus. I thought that was just, like. A three-headed dog thing that keeps the dead from escaping Greek Hell or something--”

“The Underworld, it's not just a hell, there are paradises there, too,” Hunk snagged a fry from the box and nibbled on it, grimacing slightly. “Dang, they put so much salt on these.”

“Want some soda?”

“Y—wait, no, don't drink that!” He lurched forward to slap the drink from Lance's hand. The liquid splattered all over the faded rug. “The sodas are mixed in the machine with tap water. You said it's poisoned.”

“Hunka Chunka,” Lance was laughing, and he set down his fries to turn and gently bump his forehead against Hunk's, “I drink and bathe from a local well. Pretty sure a soda's not going to turn me into much more of a freak.” He rubbed the tips of their noses together as Hunk sheepishly mumbled something about him not being a freak anyway. “Anyway so apparently cerberus is like...some kind of psychic? He can manifest his soul as that...huge dog-wolf-hydra thing. And he promised Allura that if she still wants to die after we figure out the whole poison thing, that he'll kill her--” he lifted his hands and patted the Samoan's chest gently when he opened his mouth, “but then he told _me_ that he's dealt enough with people that depressed that he's pretty sure she'll realize she has reasons to keep living besides duty by the time we're done.”

Hunk felt his face pulling into the scowl he'd worn when he'd come into the sitting room. “Lance--”

“Then we went to a hidden Extrahuman market.”

“Wait. What?”

The demon's smile put the scorching sun filtering through the broken windows to shame. “Oh, Hunk, I'll take you some time, it's so cool! There's a dragon—an _actual dragon—_ guarding the entrance, and then there's like an illusion spell you gotta walk through and _the whole place was packed_. I mean, on a Wednesday night, can you imagine? And it was like home, kind of, with wooden and stone stalls and vendors and there were so many different kinds of food being sold and it smelled _awesome_.” He sank back down and turned again to return to his meal, reminded by the faint rumble of his stomach. “And Katie fought in this like, arena thing--”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“No dude, it's cool, she's apparently got wicked plant powers. She killed a dude with sunflowers and I am never eating sunflower seeds again because that shit was terrifying. I mean, it's not cool that she killed a dude, obviously, but she's okay.” He leaned against Hunk's legs again and gave him a small smile. “Keith was there.”

“In the arena?”

“No, no. In the crowd, and after. He and Katie went shopping in the market after she changed her clothes, so maybe he got you something nice.” His teasing tone made the human gently shove at his head.

“Be nice, Lance. It's hard enough on him that he has a huge crush on me, don't rag him about it, okay?” He almost immediately buried his fingers back in that thick, soft hair and sighed. “Besides, I only have room in my life for one disaster man, and that's you.”

“Aw, Hunk,” Lance wiggled where he sat on the floor, “you say the sweetest things.”

“So what did you do while they were shopping? Did you shop, too?”

The demon squirmed. “I mean. Yes? But not. Uhm. First I may have banged Shiro into a wall a little.”

Hunk jerked fully upright. “You _what?_ Lance!”

“Relax, we went between two stalls where it was shadowy and no one saw much.”

“So you went into a dark alley with a hunter and got all vulnerable?”

“What? No! I mean. Kind of? I topped? And I accidentally froze him to a wall—why are you mad?” He wriggled around again, gnawing his way through a cheeseburger.

“Lance, the information I found out about this guy, it's—he's not some random hunter. He's HOPE's foremost specialist for killing the Divine. He's been at it for the last three years or so. There was a witness statement from one of his cases—he was sent after a little god who had his Triad all put together, you know, all three of his angels around him—the witness said he showed up unarmed, she saw one of the angels pat him down, even, and after he left there was nothing left in the room but ichor, blood, and feathers. No bodies or even parts.”

He leaned forward to settle his hands on the demon's thin shoulders. “Lance, you said it yourself—the Divine aren't supposed to be able to die except at the hands of another Divine, but this Shiro guy's been killing them on HOPE's payroll for years. They sent him here to kill you! And you know that, I know you know that! Keith ripped off his _arm_ for _touching you_ , you don't think he might have been mad about that? What if he had killed you, huh? Gotten you in the dark and—and--” his voice cut off and he swallowed hard, pulling on the demon's shoulders.

Lance went easily, wrapping around him as much as he settled in his lap and pressing their foreheads together again. “Hey, hey, I'm okay,” he murmured, stroking Hunk's back, “I'm okay. I'm right here.” He leaned back a little and tenderly brushed away an escaped tear, then offered the human a smile as he pulled the crate of food within reach with his tail. “Now. Tell me everything you found. I promise I'll listen.”

“He grew up in the southern area of Japan. Kagoshima prefecture, on Kyushu island. He's half indigenous, according to his brother.” He held up a hand when Lance lifted his head. “Yeah, he's got brothers. Seven years younger than he is. The one I talked to, his name is Ryou. He said his brother mostly raised them until they were about twelve, then moved out here to join HOPE. Before he left Japan, Ryou says he was the other kind of hunter. Kept a silver plated machete and an iron crowbar on his bike. Kept acquiring new weapons, never said where from, but Extrahumans would show up dead by the same kinds he brought home. New knives after a stabbing, new gun after a shooting. Size matched up and everything. None of those were authorized hunts—those Extrahumans he killed were innocent.”

Lance's wings drooped a little, flicking. “But that was like. Like over a decade ago, right? Maybe he's changed?”

“Lance, he hunts down Extrahumans and the Divine for a living. He walks into a room with them, unarmed, and walks out with their weapons and a mess behind him. That's in his HOPE file, it's why he can travel on a hoverbike. He doesn't carry a lot of his own weapons, he takes what he needs from his targets—his _victims._ He lied to you about not knowing anything about demons. It was all an act; it's all _been_ an act, and—and there's more, but. Lance,” he cupped the demon's cheek, looking up at him earnestly, “Lance, please listen. He's a murderer. Extrahumans, Metahumans, the Divine, and their families aren't people to him, and that's not just HOPE training. He was like that before. The perfect candidate, said so on his intake form.”

“I'm listening,” the demon promised in a small voice, looking down. He pushed the crate of food away with his foot. “I don't. I don't understand why Matt—or the professor—why would they let someone like that loose in Dryreef? Why haven't they driven him out yet? Why would someone who doesn't see Extrahumans as people give up a part of himself to help a fae? And last night, when I was scared, he sent the big—the cerberus, he sent it away right away. Maybe. Maybe he hasn't changed yet but he _is_ changing? Maybe the water's doing something to him, too.”

He hadn't realized he was crying until Hunk brushed away his tears, and he slumped down miserably to carefully lay his head on his best friend's shoulder. “Wh-why can't I just—why can't I just accept that he's a monster?” He whispered. “Why does it have to be hard? It's obvious. Everything you said, it's obvious. Someone who kills without questioning his orders, someone who kills just because we're different, that's a monster. More than any of us. Why can't I _see_ him that way?”

“I don't know why he's doing this to you,” Hunk whispered, pressing his face into Lance's soft hair, “I don't know if he's trying to make you trust him or he's just this much of a sadistic bastard. But I promise you, Lance, I won't let him take you away. I can't—I can't stop him from breaking your heart but I can keep him away from you from here on out, okay? When we go down to investigate the water, I'll be right there with you and I won't let him even look at you. I promise, _manamea,_ I promise.” He rocked the sobbing demon in his arms, rubbing his cheek along the curve of a horn.

He felt Lance's phone buzz, and didn't hesitate to pluck the demon's phone from his back pocket to check it. He hummed, still gently rocking. “Hey, so you've got a text from Keith. Do you wanna know what it says?” He smiled a little when Lance nodded jerkily. “Of course you do. Keith's pretty, and you said he's always good for a snack, right?” He hummed into the thick, soft hair again when his friend let out a wet laugh. “Okay, he says that—hm. He says Matt found out about the arena fight last night, and threw a fit. He and Shiro got into a fight, they're both okay. He wants to come by and check on you later, and...there's an eggplant, a doughnut, a screaming face, and a bunch of droplet emojis.”

Lance's stifled giggle against his shoulder made him smile, and he pressed another kiss to a shimmering horn. “What should I send him back?”

“Uh,” sniffling and wiping at his face, Lance lifted his head a little, “eggplant, cowboy smiley, rollercoaster, fountain, dead face.”

“...fountain,” Hunk mumbled, squinting at the phone, “dea—wait, dead face? You want him to ride you 'til he dies?”

“Passes out,” Lance clarified, “but there's never really been a good emoji for 'happy passing out,' so we use the dead face.” He rubbed at his eyes again, then looked down in surprise. “...Did I shrink?”

“A little, I think. You seemed smaller when I came in, too, but I thought that was because you were like, trying to hide because you thought I was mad at you.” He gave the demon a soft smile and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Which is entirely impossible. I might get a little frustrated when you're too trusting, buddy, but I promise, it'd take a lot to make me actually mad at you.”

“I like that,” Lance hummed, resting his head on Hunk's shoulder again, “and I mean, like. I know that, technically? But I'm...you know.”

“Not as confident as you project,” his friend finished gently.

“That's a soft way of saying I'm totally lacking in self-assurance.” Lance played with the fingers on one of Hunk's hands, then sighed and put the human's palm over his face. His cheeks were still slightly damp from crying, and the Samoan affectionately stroked the wetness away. “Why am I such a goddamned disaster?”

“You're perfect this way,” Hunk hummed into his hair, continuing to tap away at the phone.

“Hey, are you still texting Keith? Ooo, are you sexting Keith and letting him think it's me?”

“I'm—yeah. Why is sexting so fun with gay guys, anyway? And what does the Mexican flag emoji mean?”

“I mean, they tend to be more inventi—wait a minute did he seriously send the Mexican flag? You send his bitch ass back the Cuban flag or I swear to every god I'm going to hurl myself across the desert to kick him in the nads.” Lance straightened up in Hunk's lap, scowling.

“I am, I am. I don't think he meant it to be mean, I just think--”

“He's stupid?”

“Well—yeah, he just asked me why I sent him the Australian flag. You're banging an idiot.”

“So is Matt, but you're the one sexting him.”

“Fair point.” The human squinted at the phone for a moment, then turned deep red and looked away from the phone.

“Dick pic?”

“Mm.”

“See, that's the danger of sexting guys from my phone. They know I accept those happily. Lemme see—oh, hell _o_.” The demon gave his phone an open-mouthed grin. “That's a nice angle for Matt. You said it was a dick pic!”

“You can kinda see some of his dick,” Hunk muttered, still red.

“Send him a spiderweb and some lips.”

“This is going to mess with me, isn't it?”

“You are a straight man whose fourth favorite pastime is sexting gay men from your bestie's phone, so. None of this isn't weird. Also, still have claws and I can't voice-to-text emojis.” He wiggled his fingers with a smile.

“You just like seeing me blush, Lance.”

“Well, duh.” He leaned forward when the phone buzzed again. “Oooh! That's a money shot!” He side-eyed Hunk and stuck his tongue out a little. “Want a blowjob?”

“Well _now_ I do, yeah!”

 


	17. Tinfoil Hatters Are Useful Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith, Lance, and Hunk pack for the hike down into the aquifer. A serious discussion is had about Shiro.

“I think you packed enough flashlights,” Lance flicked his wings, leaning over Keith's shoulder and settling his chin in the other man's hair, “unless we're all gonna have one in each hand.” He draped his arms over Keith's narrow shoulders, humming. “You smell good. Did you change shampoos?”

“It's supposed to help with split ends,” was the absent-minded response, “everyone should have a headlamp, a flashlight in hand, and a spare. I've also got extra batteries, rope, pitons, and--” he rolled his eyes upward as the demon hummed at him again. “You're not listening, are you?”

“I'm listening, I'm just also letting myself be distracted by your new shampoo,” he let his claws trail over the curve of Keith's shoulders, “because I'm upset and I need distracting. How long, exactly, do you think we'll be down there, anyway? What about water, food?”

“Sendak says he'll be providing those, but I've got two MREs per person confirmed to be coming, just in case. Katie says she's going to be carrying a case of bottled water of her own. Why do you need distracting? Was earlier not distracting enough?” He glanced over to the door as he shifted things in his pack, then down to where Lance's fingers were tracing his skin. “Did you have a fight with Hunk?”

“What? No. Little gods, no. Hunk and I never fight. He just...he was worried about me, you know, and he told me, uhm. He did some digging into Shiro--”

Keith straightened up, blowing a breath out through his nose. “Wait, what? Why in the hell would--”

“Dude I'm about to tell you, chill out.” The Cuban patted his wrists. “Shiro came here to kill me, right, and he's changed his mind and told HOPE to fuck off or whatever, but Hunk didn't believe him because he's--”

“Ass over haircut in love with you?” His friend groused.

“What? Dude, no. C'mon, you know Hunk's straight. He's just super protective of me because I can't...you know. Pass anymore. So he looked into Shiro's past, and he found this guy who says he's Shiro's little brother, and--” he dragged in a shaky breath, “man, the things he found out that Shiro's done. I don't want to believe it, but. Hunk showed me his file. The other stuff was in it, all confirmed and everything, so we kinda...don't have a lot of choice but to believe the things his brother told Hunk.”

“I cannot even begin to list the ways I am disappointed in the two of you.” Keith leaned out from under Lance's chin to shoot him a sour look. “You can't believe every speck of bullshit people on the internet tell you just because you can verify some of it.”

Lance let out a laugh, sudden and spontaneous as a sneeze. “I'm sorry, tinfoil hatter says what?!”

“Lance, that's the whole point! There's all kinds of conspiracies and hatred out there, and I'm an expert at sorting them out—you should have called me, you both should have called me. There's no way Shiro's ever done anything bad. I've known him since I was fourteen, if you wanted info on him you guys should have asked me. Or Pigeon.”

“Okay first of all you guys' relationship is so weird,” the demon shook his head, “but uh. Yeah, you believe in aliens and Bigfoot, man, we weren't going to turn to you—either of you—for reliable intel.”

“Because we believe in aliens and cryptids? Lance. You're a nine foot tall demon.” Keith turned slightly, still holding a headlamp in one hand. “You realize that's like. Statistically more unlikely to see than Bigfoot or Mothman or aliens, right? More people have glimpsed--”

“Wolfmen or fae or sky whispers or swamp gas, not--”

“I've seen the Mogollon Ridge monster myself--”

“In the dark, through cheap night vision goggles--”

“Excuse you, my night vision goggles are military issue!”

“From two hundred and fifty years ago!”

Keith snapped his teeth together and looked downward. “Two hundred and thirty-eight,” he muttered rebelliously. He let a few seconds pass in silence, then dragged in a breath. “Whatever. So what if Shiro's maybe killed a few people on the job. He's a hunter, you know? They kill Extrahumans who are killing people. It's not like he's the Nightmare Hound, or anything.”

Lance made the sign of the cross and leaned back sharply. “ _Don't say that name out loud_ ,” he hissed.

“I thought you didn't believe in cryptids.”

“I believe in death.”

“Lance, if the Angel of Death had a dog--”

“Don't. It isn't a dog and you know it. It's a merciless killing machine that makes things like us disappear so can we _please_ stop talking about it?”

Keith raised his hands, then reached up to touch the demon's cheek, pursing his lips. “What I mean is, he's not going around wiping out whole towns and nests and clusters and congresses of Extrahumans just because they exist. This is _Shiro_. He's kind, and impulsive, and wonderful, and a giant dork. He's not a murderer. Okay? He was willing to take a chance on you after one meeting. You've met him a couple of times now--” he eyed the demon when Lance started giggling uncontrollably “--and you didn't list 'getting a negative feeling from him' as a reason to start distrusting him. So at least ask him about it before you get all 'unhand me, villain' about— _why_ are you laughing?”

“Sorry, sorry, it's.” Lance turned his smile into one of Keith's palms to muffle his giggles, taking a moment of breathing the Extrahuman's scent to calm himself. “We had sex. I had sex with him. At the Night Market. I banged him into a puddle and froze him to a wall.”

Keith's head shook, repeatedly and minutely, as he blinked away the accompanying mental imagery. “Yeah, I know, I was there. I helped defrost him. Why are you reminding me of that? That was over a week ago.”

“You just. You said 'met him a couple of times' like we'd passed each other in a coffee shop or something, it's funny to me.”

Keith sighed, shaking his head in a more relaxed fashion even as his shoulders lifted uncomfortably. “I can't wrap my head around Shiro being the kind of person who'd have sex with someone after only a couple of meetings, that's all. I've kind of blanked it out. But you know, I've uh. Also met you, so it's not like I don't know you're a pro at getting people to bang you.”

“Hm, you do have personal experience with that.” He pressed a soft kiss to the palm against his face and watched the tanned face flush from the corner of his eye.

“Uh, I mean, I'm also very thirsty, so I'm not hard to convince.” He gave the demon a slightly lopsided grin. It tempered with the soft exhalation through his nose and a slow blink. “But please, okay, just. Just trust me about Shiro. Whatever some weirdo on the internet told Hunk about him, it isn't true. Okay?” The callous on his thumb felt rough against the plane of Lance's cheek.

“Dude, you know him from a bunch of phone calls that stopped six years ago when he broke up with Matt. I don't think that qualifies you to say 'trust me I know this guy.'”

Keith's gaze slid upward, and his mouth puckered into a thoughtful pout. “Aaaaactually, we kept corresponding even after he and Matt broke up. We've been emailing each other and sending video messages about twice a week.”

The sudden total stillness in the demon's body set Keith on edge. “So he knew that Matt was out here?”

“Yeah, but I asked him not to let on that I told him.”

“And he knew about the professor?”

“Of course I told him about Adam. He and Curtis were my safe place when it got overwhelming not actually being a Ho—oh. I'm sure he had a good reason for pretending to be--”

“I'm sure he did.” Lance's voice was a little too even, and Keith got the impression that he'd said something wrong. “I'm still gonna be cautious from here on out, though. If only because Hunk will freak out even more if I'm not. I'm really conflicted over this in general.” He slumped a little, frowning. “I like him, I do. You're right; he's kind, and wonderful, and he's got a super dumb sense of humor that makes me smile.” He released the Extrahuman's hand when it gently tugged away. He let silence cover them both for a moment, then stuck the end of his tongue out from between his teeth. “He also smells _ridiculously_ good and turns his brain off during sex, like you.”

The dark-haired man made a strangling noise and rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I don't need to know that about a man who is my boyfriend's ex and...and effectively my big brother. Please.”

“Okay, I get that you don't want to know intimate sexual details about the ex your boyfriend almost went to prison over, but there is no way in any hell that you only see that man in a fraternal sense.” Lance straightened up and tipped his head, taking in Keith's posture and tension. He almost missed the look he got from violet eyes between long fingers.

“What the hell are you talking about?” It was almost not a question, just the curious side of a challenge, and some part of Lance's mind whispered that probably he shouldn't provoke the man who could turn into a snarling purplish man-beast and bite off peoples' arms.

The words left his mouth before he could listen to the tiny voice of his common sense. “Keith, sweet thirsty pining man, do you not realize that I am the perfect person to know what eye-bottoming someone looks like?” He managed not to let his expression change, though internally he braced himself for backlash.

“I am not—that's not—that's not a _thing,_ Lance!” Keith's voice sounded strangled behind his hands, then he leaned back and dropped his hands to give the demon a look. “I do not...'eye-bottom' Shi—I don't do that to anyone! That's not a thing!”

“Dude, we all have a way of looking at people when we see them and just...want them to hold us down and raw us until we forget how to breathe. You look at Hunk and Shiro and me that way, too. Every time you get within eight feet of Matt it's the only expression you can manage. You don't have to be ashamed of it, don't make that noise!” He wrapped his arms around the groaning man. “It's a beautiful expression. It's honest. Everything about you is so gods-damned honest, do you know that? It's a huge part of your appeal. You have no idea how to hide what you're feeling or thinking.” He pressed kisses to the top of the heavy black hair.

“No, stop, shut up,” Keith lightly slapped at his shoulders, mumbling against the blue-tinted skin, “it's embarrassing.”

“It's wonderful,” the demon insisted gently, but he held his friend until the embarrassment passed, gently stroking his hair and back as Keith relaxed in his arms. “And anyway, everyone who's ever been within ten feet of him will tell you there's nothing wrong with thinking un-brotherly thoughts about Shiro. Except maybe Hunk, who doesn't seem to like him, like, at all.” He leaned back a little when Keith did, and offered the smaller man a soft smile. “You okay?”

“You really need to learn where acceptable compliments start and stop,” his friend said dryly, touching the backs of his fingers to his cheek to gauge his flush.

“Like you'd know. Holts don't compliment; they _compare_.”

“Any comparison to a Holt _is_ a compliment, Lance, I keep telling you.” Keith pulled the rest of the way away and fanned himself a moment.

“I seriously don't understand why that family inspires so much...” Lance blew out a breath as he fumbled for a word, “fear? Faith? I mean, yeah, Katie's powers are scary, but she's not the type to just whip them out on the random public. And Matt's super strong, sure, but it's not like he's out challenging ogres to arm wrestling competitions and then rending them limb from limb. So what's with the Holts, anyway? Why am I the only one who isn't...seized by _something_ around them? Even Shiro, he looks like he'd light himself on fire if Katie asked him to, when she's around.”

“He probably would,” the smaller man murmured, looking down at his hands before turning back around to continue his packing. He grunted when Lance gripped his shoulders to turn him back.

“Why do you say that like you're commenting on the weather? _Why_ is that treated as a totally normal reaction?”

“Lance,” Keith reached up to take the demon's hands, gently pressing them together between his own, “there are some things that you're the only person to whom it occurs to ask these questions. The Holts, there—there's a thing about them, a connection to the Earth, that overwhelms the rest of us. Like finding God, big G, God, and he's living down the street from you in a neighborhood with no HoA with his wife who gardens and their two clone children and the funny bitey little mutant gremlin they adopted along the way.”

The demon dragged in a shaky breath and put one hand to his throat as though reaching for a necklace he wasn't wearing. “Keith, that's fucking blasphemy.”

“Lance, that's my family.”

“Samuel Holt is not God. He's not even _a_ god.”

“He's not Divine, no. But listen, that's only half of what I said. They have a connection with the Earth, something so powerful that most of us can't stand to really look at any of them directly for any length of time because we don't want them to think we're issuing a challenge. I've lived with them for eleven years, was raised by them since I was thirteen, hell, I've been banging Matt since I turned eighteen, and I still have a hard time looking any of them in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Colleen made sure the drought a few years back didn't affect the amount of local produce we had access to, even increased the yield when the distribution centers stopped sending their drivers through because of the RAD storms. Sam keeps the Garrison running, upgrades the tech so everyone can use it safely and effectively even though a lot of the hardware hasn't been fresh since before the Outing. Matt keeps HOPE's interference to a minimum. _That's_ all stuff you know.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't explain why you're on about gods and not looking them in the eye.”

Keith shrugged. “Maybe you can't feel it because you're a Divine. You're not bound to the Earth like the rest of us are.”

“So it's some...mysterious powerful connection that I can't feel because I'm a demon?” Lance leaned back a little.

“I don't completely understand it, but maybe? I don't—no, Lance, I'm not trying to--” The Extrahuman clung to his hand when he would have stood to walk away. “Stop. Hey, stop. That's not. I didn't say demon. I said Divine. The Divine—little gods, angels, and demons alike—your ancestors all fell from the heavens or whatever, right?”

He let out a little laugh, curling his fingers around Keith's. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So the Divine are otherworldly. Extrahumans, humans, metahumans, demihumans, we're all...Earthly. Of course you wouldn't sense that...that thing, that terrifyingly huge connection to the Earth, the _presence_ that the Holts have.” He lifted Lance's hand and pressed the demon's knuckles to his forehead. “Don't be stupid.”

“You're stupid,” the demon muttered reflexively, then stuck out his tongue. “Do you think that means Allura doesn't feel it, either? Fae are from another realm of existence, too—another world.”

“I honestly have no idea. We could ask her, when she's feeling better.”

“I think she said she was coming in the group text,” Hunk grunted from the doorway, hauling in a tire and setting it in a corner of the rundown sitting room with a sigh. “You could double-check, though. Sorry, I was trying to give you guys as much time as possible, so I fixed up the truck and changed the tire. Really glad you had a full-sized spare, Keith, but I don't think this one's patchable. Looks like you may have run over a bunch of nails.”

“The truck wasn't broken,” Keith said in confusion, eyeing the ragged tire, “and it was a spike strip.” He shook his hand free of Lance's and returned his attention to tying up the backpack. He shot Lance a sullen look over his shoulder. “You didn't tell me you _brought Hunk_.”

“He was my ride,” the demon informed him cheerfully, unfazed by the alarmed growl the other man tried to stifle, “what all did the truck need, Hunka Chunka?”

“Aside from soundproofing?” The big man offered them both a good-natured grin, but lifted his hands in surrender when he saw the humiliation on Keith's face. “I changed the filters and the oil, gave all the connectors a good cleaning, and checked the lines for leaks. I also refilled the windshield washer fluid, since the reservoir was bone dry.” He grinned up at Lance as the demon playfully swooned against his shoulder and cooed something about him being a 'real man.' “Since I stopped hearing 'keep out' noises about half an hour ago, I figured I'd come help pack.”

“One of these days we keep hoping you'll read them as 'come in' noises,” Lance sighed, folding his hands on Hunk's shoulder and nuzzling his ear.

“I'd be pretty freaked out if Keith tried to join us because he read my noises that way, so I figure without a whole conversation and my concept of my sexuality being adjusted, I'm reading them just fine.” He gave his best friend another smile and gently ruffled his hair. “You have that stylus he got you?”

“Yeah, somewhere around here.” The demon made a face as he straightened up, pulling at the long vest slung over the back of one of the chairs. “What am I doing with it?”

“Check the group text to see if Allura said she was coming.”

“Man, I still can't believe I got her number because of a group text with a HOPE field agent,” Lance muttered, digging out his phone and a stylus from a pocket of the vest. He diligently began scrolling through text messages, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his teeth.

Hunk crouched down by Keith, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know it's embarrassing to be called out on being loud during sex,” the soft tone with which he said it kept the Extrahuman's objection to a quiet grumble, “but don't worry, okay? I'm not going to tell anybody, and if it makes you feel like we're even, I'm loud, too. Like, totally got heard by half the barracks even with my hand over my mouth loud. Everybody knew I was getting some kind of sex, and everybody knew it was Lance. I have had so many sweet, brilliant girls bake me cookies and pies in consolation of him 'disappearing.' No one believes that I'm straight any more.” He looked down at the closed backpack a moment, then shook his head. “That kinda got away from me.”

“Are they any good?” Keith asked after a moment, fiddling with the ties on the pack.

“Huh? Oh, about half of them, I guess? I kinda prefer my own cooking, or my mom's, if it comes down to it. Grew up on great food, you know? Got a little spoiled.” His smile almost hid him bracing himself for a joke.

Keith looked up and offered him a smile. “No idea,” he shrugged, looking Hunk's face over with an intensity the big man usually attributed to Lance, “I barely remember my dad cooking anything but stir-fry, and in case you didn't know yet, Holts don't cook.” He waited a beat, watching Hunk's expression twitch, then grinned. “There's a reason I'm known as 'the weird guy who eats opossums.'”

“I thought that was because you ran around gleefully informing people that opossums are crunchy and full of babies when you were a kid.”

“I mean, yeah, but why do you think I ate the opossum? Holts don't cook.”

“I would have believed 'because it was there,'” Hunk's smile felt like soft sunlight, and Keith jerked his attention away before he started melting in the face of it, “but I'm, you know, not sure live giant rodents are ever a preferable alternative to any human's cooking.”

“Opossums are marsupials,” the Extrahuman informed him, a little stiffly, “not rodents. And anyway, you've never tasted Colleen's cooking. Mostly, it's that everybody's schedules are all out of sync. Growing up, Matt was in training on the east coast, Pigeon had her degrees to work on, Sam was at the Garrison all the time, and Colleen was always either at a market or in the Greenhouse losing track of time. We made sure to sit down as a family and have dinner twice a week, but it was almost always take-out. Pigeon and I took cooking classes at Dryreef Community College together, but we both passed solidly in the middle of the class. I don't think I've ever had food I'd call 'great.'”

The human leaned back on his heels and looked him over. “I'll cook for you some time, then,” he offered thoughtfully, “when we have the chance.” He looked down at the pack that Keith fiddled with, then offered his hand. “Guess I missed out on helping with the packing, then?”

“I uhm, I already had it mostly done when Lance...arrived.” Violet eyes frantically looked anywhere but at Hunk. “But, uhm, you can help me get it all in the truck?”

“She is coming,” Lance announced from across the room.

“...And pack one for Allura, too.” The Extrahuman sighed.

“Sure thing.” Hunk hefted the bag to set it with the others by the door. “Hey, Keith?”

“Mmn?”

“Where'd you get all this stuff, anyway? I mean, contents aside, ten hiking packs would cost a lot of money, and last I checked you didn't have much in the way of a job.”

“Well, uh,” Keith made a face and scratched behind one ear, “I was adopted by a well-off family. But also, Pigeon and I raid the old military facilities around here, sell off what we can't use, and hoard what we can. She takes a lot of tech stuff, I take the MREs, canteens, flashlights...packs, usable uniforms. Last week, I sold an old MRI machine to the Garrison, so I don't. I don't have trouble acquiring money.”

“Still discomforting when you say it like that,” Lance noted without looking up from his phone.

“There's nothing wrong with saying it that way,” Keith's reply was automatic, and he continued speaking to Hunk without acknowledging the brief aside, “so all the packs and their contents cost me was time. I've got plenty of that out here. Like you said, I don't have a job.”

“So you...Doomsday prep?”

“Well,” Keith grimaced, “Pigeon's a lot better at farming, brickmaking, building, light smithing—basic knives, patchwork, that kind of thing—and uh, dowsing. But she's terrible at hunting, skinning, tanning, and any kind of fiber arts. Though I don't entirely have the hang of crochet, and my knitting tension is questionable.” He looked back and forth between Hunk and the demon, who had finally pulled his attention from his phone. “So...yes. I guess you could say we're Doomsday preppers? But technically I think the Outing could be considered Doomsday, so. We missed it.”

“So just preppers, then,” Lance put in dryly.

“We have multiple comprehensive first aid kits in every room of the house and bunker, plus two in the truck.”

“Like, two-hundred-fifty years ago first aid kits?” The question was accommodated by the dramatic tilt of wide horns.

“Y...es?”

“Holy shit, dude, they were still using _peroxide_ as an antiseptic. You may as well be using leeches!”

“Don't start the rant,” Hunk said gently. He lifted his chin when the demon opened his mouth again. “They're doing the best they can with what they find, and that's admirable.” When Lance subsided with a frown, Hunk shot Keith a look. “You, uh, you did update the antiseptic though, right?”

“Well, obviously,” Keith flipped Lance off when the demon made a hissing noise, “I mean, what if we came on an injured gremlin? You can't treat them with peroxide; it would kill them. I drank all the old stuff and we got--”

“You.” Hunk stopped him with a sharply raised hand, and Keith leaned back a little, pressing his lips together. He shot Lance a dirty look when he saw the demon lean forward eagerly. “You _drank_ peroxide?”

“I...I'm immune to negative effects of every chemical I've tried so far, including peroxide, ammonia, bleach, concentrated iodine, and cyanide.” He winced a little at Hunk's strangled noise. “I eat peach and apricot pits. Have since I was a kid. It's...the immunity, it's a part of whatever kind of Extrahuman I am. When I was...must have been about four, I drank ammonia and bleach together and farted chlorine gas. I thought it was hilarious, but Dad couldn't close the windows in the house for a week, we had to have all the fans going, and it was July. It was a lesson.” He cleared his throat, then stood to grab an empty pack from a set of rusty metal shelves. “So, putting together a pack for Allura. I...don't think any of my MREs are vegan, but I can check.”

“Shiro can always feed her another head if she gets peckish,” Lance muttered.

Keith's attention snapped over to the demon almost audibly. “Not funny, Lance.”

The demon cackled. “It's a little funny. She's a vegan but that doesn't extend to the metaphysical, because she'll eat a metaphysical dog's head the size of a large hoverbike and not think a thing about it.”

“She's not a vegan for moral reasons, Lance, it's a physical thing. Like you're allergic to pears.” Hunk waved a hand.

Keith leaned back a bit. “Hold on, you're allergic to pears?”

“At least I'm not lactose intolerant? I could never give up milkshakes, everyone would be miserable.” He wrapped his arms around his knees and put his chin between them, grinning at the other two men. “Just throw in some of those weird dried bugs you buy online, Keith, and some cans of refried beans, maybe? Didn't you jar some split pea soup last year?”

“That's no good—I put ham in the pea soup. Wait. Bugs? I thought she was vegan.”

“Insectivore,” Hunk informed him, shaking out the pack when Keith handed it over, “I guess insect meat doesn't have whatever makes her sick.”

“Hell, I've got plenty of food I can pack her, then.”

Lance laughed. It made the room seem a little bigger. “I hope she likes dried crickets!”

“Crickets aren't the only ones I order,” Keith actually sounded a little offended, “I get--”

“Please don't,” Hunk's voice already sounded strained.

“It's just that crickets are for flour and stuff, or dipping in sesame oil and rolling in seeds. This year I made honey-chili scorpions. They're really good. Definitely a dessert, though, since they're basically candied.” He was a little distracted as he rifled through containers on the rusty shelves, tucking a few under his arm. “I didn't figure you as the kind of person who got weird about alternative food choices. You know, lots of cultures around the world eat bugs.”

“It's not the bug thing,” Hunk assured him, “it's the texture thing with a lot of other edible bugs. I know cricket flour is really good.”

“Oh, you don't like the gooey ones?”

The bigger man's cheeks puffed out momentarily. “No.”

“Dude, Hunk has a problem with like, those lava-cake things sometimes.”

“Only if they put the crunchy stuff on the outside.” Hunk held out the pack as Keith came over with his arms full. “All right, so uh. Flashlights, a headlamp, and a canteen, right?”

“It's not a canteen, it's a glass-lined sampling canister,” Keith offered it to him to inspect, “I figure if we each have one then someone should be able to get it public before the government kills us all off.”

Squinting into the canister, Hunk lifted his head to purse his lips at the Extrahuman. “Dude, unwrap the tinfoil from your head.”

“Yeah, yeah. You mock me now, but I'll be proven right when the snipers blow our heads off.”

“If you're right, you'll die without being able to say 'I told you so,'” Hunk laughed, tucking the canister into the pack, “you ever lose sleep over that?”

“All the damn time.” Keith's smile held a flash of mischief in the wake of Hunk's cackling laughter, and Lance crossed his arms over his chest to watch the two of them with a thoughtful tilt of his head.

 


	18. This Was A Great Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group of investigators begins their trek down into the dark. They shine a few lights into themselves, as well.

“You're not going, I said,” Shiro crossed his arms over his chest, scowling, “you're still recovering--”

“I have every right to see what's been done to my people,” Allura pushed herself upright to prod him in the chest, then sagged back against Gary's car. Iverson stood behind Shiro, attention entirely on his phone as though he hadn't driven the still-pale fae out to the cave entrance an hour from Dryreef's border. “I need to see what's been poisoning them, Shiro, what I've been fighting against. Plus,” she pulled the hunter a little closer, straightening the collar on his button-down shirt. One faceted blue eye on her cheekbone opened and closed quickly, in a wink, “I can see more than you can, so you need my help.”

He felt a conflicted whine-growl roll out of him, and reached up to wrap his hands around her delicate-looking wrists. “Allura--”

“ _And_ Katharine already told me I could go.” She gave his huff a bright smile and pulled him in slightly to kiss the tip of his nose. “Knew you'd see it our way.”

He settled one hand in her hair and the other on her hip and stood there for a moment, foreheads pressed together and soaking in her scent—ripe chestnut and vanilla strong enough to make his eyes water—as he fought the urge to shove her back into Gary's car and lock the doors. “Are you willing to potentially put the rest of us at risk if it turns out you aren't, in fact, up to spelunking down into the aquifer?”

“There's a maintenance path, Shiro, I hardly think there will be any spelunking unless something seismic yet undetected has happened to it in the past eighty years.” She settled her hands on his arm when he dragged in a sharp breath, and he felt the surge of temper immediately abate. “I promise, if I cannot continue safely, I will sit where I stand and wait for you all to come back up. I will not put Lance or Katharine in danger.”

“Or you again,” he added insistently.

She looked away, towards where the creak of sand and gravel announced the arrival of a new vehicle. “Or me again,” she finally agreed carefully, “were you aware that Sendak and Haxus are coming?”

“What the--”

“Hi, Taka!” Katie vaulted out of the driver's side of her jeep and snapped open a folding stool, setting it by the passenger door and giving Haxus a sweet smile when the chimera hissed at her. “Gary, are you coming, too?”

“No,” Iverson finally looked up from his phone, “just dropped Lu off. Phil's been trying to convince her that she should stay behind.”

“Ph--” She glanced between Gary and Shiro, then shrugged. “Well, he shouldn't worry, because if Allura can't go any further, I can carry her if necessary.”

“She agreed to sit and wait for us,” the hunter released Allura and straightened up to turn towards someone much more willing and able to fight with him on the topic.

“She almost died for this secret, she gets to uncover it with the rest of us.”

“You're making my point. She almost _died_.”

“So did you, and you're here.”

“That's different. I'm--”

“Still missing an arm, so if anyone's going to have to be extra careful if we have to climb down anything it's you, Lopsides.” Having made sure Haxus got out of the jeep successfully, the tiny blonde turned to settle her fists on her hips. “Princesses get to be heroes too, Taka.”

The air left him in a yip, as though she'd sucker-punched him. “Diana--”

She tilted her chin upwards, mouth tightening.

“Princesses can be heroes all they like, providing it doesn't get them killed,” Sendak's rumble broke the moment as the big chimera levered himself out of the back seat of the jeep, “but if the Firstborn needs to stop and sit, Haxus or I would be honored to keep her company and ensure her safety.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at the larger man. “We were settling in for a good fight,” he informed Sendak peevishly.

“You and I both knew you weren't going to win.”

“I never win arguments with her. She's Wonder Woman.”

“I am, in fact, just as cool.” Katie agreed. “Her tools are more specialized, though, and she's way taller.” She looked up at Haxus when the skinny man made a questioning sound. “My middle name's Diane,” she reminded him, then smiled and shook her head. “I'm gonna get this lump in the shade before he curls up on a rock and goes into a coma.” She grabbed Haxus' wrist and tugged him towards the gated opening of the entrance.

Sendak crossed to offer Allura a deep bow of his head and his prosthetic fist over his heart. “Firstborn,” his tone was almost reverent, “it is an honor to help discover that which has so grievously wounded you.”

“You have my thanks, Commander,” she inclined her head only slightly, “how is my replacement?”

“Difficult at best, Firstborn, as he has been from the first time I met him,” the big man made a face, “he has already asked the High Priestess for more assistance. It is a testament to your power, as she sent him with three...ah. Assistants already. I will admit to some concern about how long it will take you to recover.”

“That seems to be the topic of the day,” she agreed, amused. Concern crossed her face before she could hide it. “You haven't told--”

“I have my loyalties, Firstborn.” It sounded almost like an apology.

Shiro could have sworn he felt the temperature drop dramatically, caught in the periphery of the look she gave the chimera, and lifted his head when he heard another car approaching. “Looks like Lance is here,” he noted a little too loudly, eye catching on the sweeping blue horns peeking up from behind the cab of the truck. He reached behind him to swat at Gary when Iverson muttered something into his phone.

Allura also straightened, and her smile brought back the sun. “Lance!” The call had the demon vaulting out of the bed of the ratty old pickup before Keith could bring it to a complete stop.

“Allura!” He picked her up and swept her away from the side of the car to the front, settling her on the hood when they were done spinning. It had the added effect of putting part of the car between the two of them and Shiro. “You look great! You ready to stretch your legs on an underground hike?”

“Absolutely, if everyone's ready to stop nagging me about how delicate my health is right now,” she brushed his hair from his forehead, then tipped her head. “Did you get shorter?” She sounded entirely puzzled.

“Yeah, Hunk and Keith think I might be getting control of my form back, maybe. Pretty neat, right?” He settled his hands on her hips and turned her on the hood, stepping around the headlight to avoid Shiro as the human moved to greet him. “You remember Keith, right?”

“I have seen Keith far more often than I've seen you,” she reminded the demon with a laugh, swatting his shoulder, “the Holts bring him to the restaurant every year for his birthday.”

“She remembers me mostly because I always cry,” Keith admitted readily, popping down the tailgate on the truck so he and Hunk could start pulling packs from the back, “my dad took me there for my birthdays when I was little, and it always reminds me of him.” He shrugged when Shiro gave him a look. “It's a good reminder, it just hurts. Allura always gives me extra whipped cream.”

“I could fill a sundae cup with just whipped cream and sprinkles and you'd be just as thrilled as if I'd given you a caramel sundae,” she shook her head, giving him a soft smile.

“I like sprinkles,” he shrugged, but the smile was returned in a flash as he set her pack by her feet. “Hunk told me you can eat bugs, so there's plenty of snacks in there for you. I even threw in a couple of baggies of Brazilian fire ants. They're in cacao powder, so I can't eat them. They were a...gift. From a...” His eyes flicked between Lance and Hunk, tongue caught between his teeth to stop the word he'd been going to say.

“From _Nicky_ ,” Lance offered the solution in an oversweet tone of voice.

“Dude, no one calls him that and I regret telling you his middle name,” Keith sighed, half-throwing the demon's pack at him.

“I'm just glad that you're petty and not as immune to my wicked wiles as I thought you were at first,” Lance laughed, slinging the pack easily on his back and buckling the waist strap comically high up on his chest, “'Nick the Dick' sounds so much better than 'James the Dick.'”

“I ran because you were too hot for me to form words and I got embarrassed,” Keith settled Shiro's pack by his feet, making sure the HOPE agent saw that the strap on his pack was a single cross-body piece. “Do you not get that a lot?”

“No usually I adjust my hotness so as not to cause a panic,” Lance joked.

Keith looked away from him in a huff and peered at Allura, who was hefting her pack curiously. “Is it too heavy? I can redistribute--”

“It's perfect, Keith. Thank you.” She gave him a small smile, which he returned before he picked up Katie's pack with a grunt to haul it over to her. Hunk followed him with Haxus' hanging off his fingers. “Are we really sure he needs to be dating Matthew?” She asked quietly after the young man was out of earshot.

“Wh—Allura!”

“I just mean--”

“He isn't,” Gary offered without looking up from his phone, “ask either of them. What's between him and Matt is strictly casual. His actual boyfriend's in the closet, though.”

“Seriously?” Shiro leaned back slightly, pulled from staring at Lance in confusion. “It's twenty-two twenty-three. Who's closeted any more?”

“Not everyone has an understanding family, Phil.” Iverson bumped his shoulder against the HOPE agent's back and shot him a sideways glance before returning his attention to his phone.

“That's like saying Hunk shouldn't be kissing people because he's black.”

“I'd say I'm more of a middling brown,” Hunk noted jovially as he came back, “Keith's gonna talk to Katie a minute but like, if he hears you guys talking race he's gonna flip.” He put an arm around Lance's waist, standing between the demon and Shiro.

“I think if he hears us talking about you kissing people it's more likely to be the trigger,” Lance hummed, nuzzling his face into the human's hair. “Anyway it was about uhm. Keith has a secret boyfriend who's closeted.”

“Then I say we definitely change the subject. If his boyfriend's in the closet, he's safe and comfortable there, and it's none of our business.” Hunk lifted his chin a little, tone prim, then tugged on Lance's waist. “Come one, help me drag the rest of the packs onto the tailgate so they'll be in reach when everyone else gets here. I gotta grab Sendak his, too.”

Shiro watched the two of them move off and slumped a little, biting his lip. He felt Gary lean against him and looked over his shoulder to give the telepath a small smile. “I think I'm going to have to explain a lot during this hike,” he murmured to the bigger man.

“If Lance will let you anywhere near him.” Gary bumped their shoulders together again. “If not, Phil, don't worry. You can always hit on Curtis or Adam.”

“That's not—wait, Curtis and Adam are coming?”

Gary reached up with one hand and turned his face back towards town, where a minivan threw up a cloud of dust on its way in. “That's Adam's.”

“Do...they have kids?”

“Nope, it's just Adam's lifelong dream to be a soccer mom.” Iverson tipped his head thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Suppose it's safe to say they've been trying for kids for a while.”

“Wh— _Gary!_ ”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Phil, they've been trying to adopt. Feds put a stop to it every time because of Curtis' past, or lack thereof.” The officer glanced over at Allura, who was looking curiously at the hand on Shiro's jaw, and hastily released the other man.

“Shiro, why is Lance avoiding you? I thought the two of you were...not above doubting one another?” Allura gave him a cheeky grin when he looked back to her.

“I guess it's a little one-sided.” He sighed. “He's...found out some things about my past that...I would rather he not ever have known.” He met her steady stare for a few seconds, then tipped his head. “It's not far enough in the past.”

“Dryreef is changing you, traveler,” she noted quietly, her smile tempering with fondness.

“As ever, Highness, I change myself.” He lay a hand over his heart and dipped his head to her delighted giggle, then waved as Curtis parked and Adam got out of the van. “How many of us are going on this expedition?”

Hunk handed Sendak his pack. “Ten,” he said curtly, “they're the last two. Your packs are on the tailgate, Professor, if you want.”

“Thanks, Garrett,” Adam squinted as he got out of the van and pulled on a pair of very dark sunglasses, “but since we're solving a Sanctuary-wide poisoning mystery together, maybe you could call me Adam?”

“I can try?” Hunk peered at the blond curiously, then blinked and leaned back. “Adam, are you hung over?”

“Extremely. Let's do this.” He walked over to Keith's truck and grabbed both his and Curtis' packs, then winced as Lance cheerfully slammed the tailgate closed. He slowly turned his head to the demon and bared his teeth, to which Lance laughed and bent to kiss his hair.

Curtis let out a soft laugh and offered Shiro a hug, which the hunter accepted gratefully. He took a moment to drag in a heavy breath of the man's slightly-vanilla and very pleasing scent. “You look like someone's in the process of stomping on your heart, Takashi,” Curtis said gently, stroking his back, “chin up, okay? It'll work out. Love finds a way. It's persistent like that.”

Shiro groaned and thumped his forehead down on the man's shoulder. “He's never going to forgive me. Not after everything he found out.”

“Hey, dumbass, what'd I just say?” Curtis laughed, readily letting one of his arms fall to Shiro's waist, burying his other hand in the thick black hair, and cradling the hunter against his shoulder. “It's gonna be okay,” he soothed, settling his cheek against Shiro's head, “he'll forgive you, whatever it is. He just needs time. Everything needs perspective.” He gave Gary a little nod in greeting, and the telepath returned it with a faint smile. “You want a little, yourself?”

“Curtis, not when Adam's hung over,” Gary sighed, “you know he'll get tetchy.”

“He's hung over; he's already tetchy.” The blue-eyed man raised a brow, then leaned back a little to smile down at Shiro, who gave him a small nod.

“I could use a little perspective right now, yeah.”

The hood of the car was hot on his rear as Curtis pushed him backwards; he felt Allura's knees close on his hips and felt his heart in his throat in the split second before the gorgeous man ducked his head and pressed their lips together. He tasted almost as sweet as he smelled, with a salt-sea aftertaste that stole Shiro's breath and made his toes curl. His hand fisted in Curtis' shirt, and some distant part of his brain whispered that he'd let out a small moan at the simple kiss. Allura's hands settled lightly on his sides, and when he gasped in a breath as Curtis pulled back, his mind whirled with images of the earth and sea. “What--”

“It is too early for me to fly into a possessive rage,” Adam complained, pulling on one of his husband's belt loops and offering him his pack.

“It's just a kiss,” the brunette sighed, pulling back and letting Shiro re-orient himself between Allura's legs, “it's not like I banged him on Gary's car.”

“For which I am eternally grateful,” the telepath murmured, settling against the hood while Shiro visibly reeled. “I think you broke him, Curtis.”

“I'm...good,” Shiro managed in a strangled tone, closing his eyes as Allura nuzzled his hair, “I'm okay. Just...holy shit. Not used to kissing other peoples' husbands, you know, in front of them. Unless it's like a threesome—I'm gonna stop talking now.” He put his hand over his face and breathed heavily through his nose for a few moments, letting the conversation around him wash by as he settled himself. When he finally dropped his hand, he felt more steady. “What in the blue-eyed fuck was _that_ , anyway?”

Curtis gave him a small smile. “I've been called that before,” he sounded too cheerful, tucking his thumbs under the straps of his pack and turning to head for the entry point, where Keith was redistributing the weight in Hunk's pack, “probably.” He struck up a conversation with Lance as soon as he was in the shadows alongside the small group.

Allura patted Shiro's back gently. “Are you all right?”

“I'm...I feel like coming here has had me reading a fresh new book about a topic I thought I was well-educated on that corrects a lot of misconceptions, and then...just now it changed genres.” He shook his head and straightened up, offering her his hand to help her off the hood of Iverson's car. She dusted off her legs as she stood, and he did a double-take. “I'm sorry, are you wearing jodhpurs?”

“We're going on an adventure. Is this not appropriate attire?” She spread her hands with a smile, loose white shirt billowing in the early morning breeze.

“You look like you signed up for a safari package in the eighteen hundreds.” He picked up his pack, settling the strap across his chest carefully.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I. No, you look great.” He was suddenly very aware of Sendak watching the two of them carefully from behind Gary. “But, weren't you wearing rhinestone-studded skinny jeans and a t-shirt three sizes too big a minute ago?”

She laughed and patted his cheek. “I'm actually naked.” She left him behind as he tried to process this information.

Iverson gave him a small shove. “Didn't figure you for gullible. I'd have bitched about ass prints on my car. I'll see you all when you get out; if you get into trouble, have someone out of your bubble screech for me.”

“Thanks, Gary.” Suddenly uncertain, he gave the squinting man a faint smile, then nodded to Sendak's tilted head and hurried towards the entrance to the maintenance track.

Katie stuck the padlock in her pocket as he approached, swinging the gate wide. “Okay, so the path's along a previously-existing cave route, so there are turnoffs and paths we don't want to take. I printed out a map for everybody so no one gets lost.” She handed Shiro and Sendak theirs, then lifted her head and frowned out into the sunlight. “What the--”

“Hoverbike,” Keith said without looking up from settling Hunk's gear, “single seat—wait.” His head lifted; his expression was somewhere between alarm and disbelief. “I know that engine.”

The bike zoomed into clear sight far faster than reasonable speed would account for; Shiro had to admire the stopping capability of the vehicle when it barely managed to avoid tipping and settled sideways a few feet from the shadow of the entryway. The rider vaulted off with the momentum, shoving Keith back against the concrete wall by an arm across his chest.

Shiro took a step forward, concerned about the leather-clad intruder when Keith's snarl rolled out from between them, but the Extrahuman seemed willing to stand there, pinned, as the newcomer's free hand came up and pulled his helmet off from the back, ruffling thick hair in a hundred shades of brown. The hand holding the helmet lifted, the index finger pointing at Adam. “Does this involve Dryreef's Guardians or not, Dire?” Their head never turned from where it hovered three inches away from Keith's face.

Adam was halfway through rolling his eyes when he squinted instead and gently pulled Shiro back. “It wasn't meant to exclude you, Griffin. We're going underground—you aren't exactly known for your love of dark, enclosed spaces. Let him go.”

“I should eat his eyes for not _texting me,_ ” the young man hissed, and Shiro was sharply reminded of an angry hawk.

“Sorry to interrupt the drama,” Haxus didn't sound very sorry, “but it's going to get hot soon and I'd like to be inside when that starts so I don't settle down for a thirty-year nap.”

Keith opened his mouth to snap something up at the man pinning him, but looked off to the side when Katie zipped up Hunk's bag. “I don't owe you a damned text, Griffin,” he huffed, then reached up to shove the other back, “get off of me before I eat _your_ eyes.”

“These are your packs, you planned this. You packed one for Adam so you knew this involved--”

“Shut the fuck up already,” Keith growled, shoving at him again and straightening up, “so I didn't include you in spelunking. You're here now; you can walk point. Be our canary.”

“You little--”

“ _Nick_ ,” Lance cut in, stepping forward to pull him back further, “you can walk next to me, yeah? I see better in the dark than you do.”

“Yeah, c'mon, James, you know he's just trying to get a rise out of you.” Hunk clapped him on the shoulder. “So, uh, you know everybody but Shiro, right? Shiro, this is James Griffin. He's Dryreef's Guardian of Air. He's uh. A gryphon.”

Shiro blinked a few times, then huffed a laugh and offered his hand. “The name's a little on the nose, isn't it? Why does Lance call you Nick?”

The young man tipped his head and waited a moment before responding. Shiro got the impression he was rolling his eyes. “My middle name is Nicholas,” when he turned around, Shiro saw the shadow of a sharp corvid profile before the young man shook his hand, “I used to go by it. Keith told Lance to irritate me.” His eyes were dark and curious; they slid over the pinned sleeve politely but lingered on the faded scars on Shiro's neck.

“Make sure your keys are pinned to your pocket,” Keith muttered, and James dropped Shiro's hand to round on him again.

Adam sighed. “ _Boys._ ”

They both pulled up short and muttered simultaneous 'sorry, Professor's. James handed Shiro back his stim band, which he hadn't felt go missing. He shrugged when the HOPE agent stared at him in disbelief, then helped reattach it. “Magpie gryphon,” he muttered by way of explanation, “the light is nice.”

“Not a habit I would have kept, personally.”

“Yeah, you and four behavioral therapists.” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets as Katie turned on her headlamp. “So you're that killer HOPE sent after Lance, huh?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he shot Sendak a smile as the big man helped him get his headlight settled on his forehead, “I'm not going to, you know, so you don't have to worry about that.”

“Who's worried? What the fuck do I care if you take him apart at the joints?” James turned to rifle through Keith's pack for a spare flashlight, which the Extrahuman didn't seem to have much objection to. “Serves him right for getting his slut-stains all over my town.”

“James.” Adam said sharply, teeth snapping together.

“It's not like demons can help themselves, Professor, I'd just sleep a little more soundly without someone like him trying to singlehandedly bring back STIs.” He sneered at Lance, who was cheerfully ignoring him with a flick of his spaded tail.

Shiro saw Adam's shoulders roll and braced himself for a spray of blood and feathers, but it was Hunk who lurched past and body-checked the gryphon back against the chain-link. “You weren't invited here in the first place, fledgling,” the heavy man rumbled, “you wanna stay, you keep that snitty beak of yours _shut_.” He leaned back slowly, then turned back to put his arm around Lance's waist as the demon trailed after Katie and Haxus into the dark.

Curtis gave Shiro a smile and waved him forward with Allura and Adam, but Shiro caught the soft edges of his words as he helped the gryphon straighten himself out. “You can dislike Lance and all the attention he's getting as much as you like, Nicholas, but kindly also remember he's not--” The words became too quiet to hear as Shiro kept walking.

The HOPE agent looked up at Sendak. “Does this town ever stop being a rollercoaster?”

The chimera laughed. “I'll let you know.” He glanced downward, the flashlights sparking flashes against the tapetum lucidum at the backs of his eyes. “You know Haxus and I live in Firebird, right?”

He felt like someone had jerked on his spine to pull him up short. “No, I. I had no idea you didn't live in the Sanctuary. Isn't that...dangerous?”

“We are only at risk from tailgate hunters, and those tend to avoid Arizona. Our lives are...mn. HOPE-compliant.” He gave the hunter a faint smile. “Plus, it's not easy to kill a chimera if you don't have all of its hearts.”

“So your third doesn't—I'm sorry, that's not something you'd tell a field agent, is it? Safety first.”

“He does not live in this country,” Sendak's tone was almost gentle, “though Haxus and I could not bear to be separated. Our weakness.” His smile turned forward, and Shiro took a moment to bask in the affectionate expression even though it wasn't aimed his way. “I am glad that he and the Lady Green get on so well.”

“He's...they're not...”

“They are not,” he chuckled, “neither of them has any interest beyond their gift exchange and...hack offs? Every other Thursday, they call each other and do...computer things? I don't understand it, but it's how they bonded to begin with. The local Night Market covers most of northern Arizona, so it's a good time for them to meet up in person if they so desire. Haxus brings her samples of extinct flowers--”

“Including ancient Roman contraceptives, apparently,” Shiro cut in dryly.

“I told you not to read into that,” the chiding was still gentle, “he just knew she'd like it, and he found it in the back of an old trunk.”

“Didn't that plant go extinct almost two and a half thousand years ago?”

Sendak's eyes gleamed again, and Shiro could have sworn he saw the big man's mouth twitch. “It was a very old trunk.”

“How old are the two of you, again?”

“Old enough to know better than to answer that question.”

“It is incredibly rude,” Allura agreed from just ahead of them, leaning back slightly to look over her shoulder at Shiro, “to ask any non-human our age. You wouldn't ask mine, would you, Shiro?”

“Of course not, Princess, but you're also a lady.”

“You are hardly a gentleman, and that's sexist.” She said tartly, flicking her hair, but the smile she gave him was genuine.

He smiled right back at her, wrapped up in the starlight shimmer of her hair and the searing pink sparkle of her pupils. “You...don't need a flashlight, do you?”

“No,” she admitted, “the only ones that do are Hunk, Katie, James, and you. The rest of us see perfectly well in the dark. Though I suppose as we get down further, it will become progressively less likely that there is any kind of ambient light, unless the aquifer contains some harmless bio-luminescent moss or slime mold.”

Shiro took a moment to make sure he wasn't stepping on any loose stones. “That sounds really gross, actually.”

“I did say harmless. They just glow a bit, Shiro, they aren't hurting anyone.”

“Unless you're allergic to mold and you drink tap water.”

“Fairly certain the whole point of this expedition is to prove that there are more harmful things in the water than slime mold.” Sendak rumbled.

Shiro gave him a wicked grin. “Maybe I just wanted to get in the dark with you.”

“I assure you,” the chimera's massive hand ghosted along his back, “you don't have to arrange a dramatic expedition with almost a dozen people to accomplish _that_.”

Allura clicked her tongue, but she'd dropped back close enough that Sendak's chest was nearly brushing her hair. “Are you two capable of being around each other without positively oozing sexual tension?”

“Probably no more than the two of you, Firstborn,” Sendak murmured, bowing his head, “but I will attempt to restrain myself.”

“I could help,” the words popped out of Shiro's mouth automatically, and he certainly wasn't expecting the low, pleased rumble from the depths of the chimera's chest in response. He felt his attention sharpen, and started to reach out for Sendak's sleeve.

Hurrying to catch up from his quiet conversation with Keith and James, Curtis grabbed his wrist partway there and yanked him forward, past Allura's flashing eyes. “Sorry to interrupt, I've got to have a word with Don Juan-Qixote before he gets slain trying to get lucky with a windmill.” He left the two with their confusion, pulling Shiro further ahead with reckless disregard for whether or not the hunter could see where he stepped. Once they were comfortably between Allura and Adam, he slowed enough to walk by Shiro's side. “Yeah, hi, hey, hello, _are you completely insane?_ You have been in town for weeks, you should be immune to everyone's...glamour by now.”

“Allura said it wasn't the glamour, it's whatever's in the water, and I've had limited exposure to it since I got here,” Shiro lifted his fingers when Curtis opened his mouth, “also, Sendak says that since I'm in...wolf mode? I'm actually immune to the...weird hotness side effect. This is just me being a giant horny disaster.” He paused, then tilted his head. “Why does hitting on Allura and Sendak make me insane?”

“Well, for one, Sendak can rip a man's limbs off without needing to shapeshift,” Curtis' eyes looked even more blue in the shifting light, and Shiro wondered if they were glowing slightly or if it was his imagination.

“So can Keith, and he's a lot less immediately intimidating.”

“And for two, Sendak is Arizona's primary contact with the fae empirical seat, so if you turn out to be a terrible lay, you could screw over a whole shitpot of Extrahumans.” Curtis huffed and released him, grabbing the partially-unbuttoned collar of his loose henley and shaking it. “There is not enough moving air in caves. I am not a fan.”

“Okay, so why does hitting on Allura make me insane?”

“Again with the dicking over Arizona's Extrahumans,” when Curtis shot him a sideways look, Shiro caught a glimpse of a smattering of freckles across the bridge of the man's nose, “she's the Firstborn, Takashi—the Emperor's heir apparent?”

“Also...yeah, covered in toxic spines, right.”

“Oh, is she? Huh.”

“Gary didn't tell you?”

“We don't really talk much. He's Adam's friend, not so much mine.” He gave the HOPE agent another sideways glance, then smiled. “You keep sort of staring. If you want me to take my shirt off so you can stare at my tits, you can just ask.”

“I'm. That's not. You very clearly work out.” Shiro cleared his throat roughly and scratched at his forehead under the shag of his bangs. “That's not what I was looking at you for, though. I'm. I know it's rude, but I'm trying to figure out what you are.”

Both eyebrows rose, and Shiro felt like his heart hit him in the base of the skull at the other man's small smile. “You didn't know? I'd have figured an old hand like you would have clocked me at first sight. But, I guess the poison in the water might have thrown off your radar.” He looked upward for a moment, mouth pursing, and Shiro got the feeling he was being teased. “You'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure. So,” he grabbed Shiro's hand again, twining their fingers together as though the two of them held hands every day, “why is Lance mad at you?”

 


	19. If It's Not The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The source of the poison is discovered.

He wasn't sure what was making his heart pound more; the slightly-damp heat of Curtis' palm against his own, or the man's very pointed question. He swallowed and carefully extracted his hand to drink from the bottle of water Keith had made sure was in his pocket. “Gary told me he found out about my file, and what's in it...some of what isn't. I don't think he knows how to handle knowing.”

“What, that your kills aren't a good clean bullet to the head most of the time? He's a grown-ass man, Takashi, he knows that fights can get messy.”

“It's not...” He took another sip from the bottle. “Mine don't have to. I'm not...I'm not a precision instrument, Curtis. I'm not a sniper rifle, taking out the bad guys in one hit and moving on to the next target. I go in, I get dirty, I enjoy the fight. It reminds me that I'm still alive. It gives me...something tangible to fight to stay that way.” He dropped his eyes to the blinking green light on his stim band.

“It gives your disorder a face to punch and a head to rip off,” the other man said gently, and Shiro's eye snapped back up to Curtis' face, drinking in the kind expression.

“Yeah. And I don't hesitate. I tear into it like it's torn into me, and I live. One more day, one more hunt, I keep living. Bloodspiller and all.” He shook his head, frowning faintly at Lance's back up ahead, watching the demon's tail coil around Hunk's ribs. “I don't think he was ready to face the reality of what I am.”

“Who ever is?” The question earned Curtis a surprised look. “I mean, be honest, Takashi, how many people have you opened up to about why you do what you do? How many people would listen to the wistful way you describe your own brutal violence and not run for the hills?”

“None, in my experience,” the man sighed.

“I'm still here,” Curtis gently patted his back, “and Lance hasn't run screaming into the desert never to be seen again. Give him a little time, yeah?”

He found himself smiling, starting to nod, then blew out a breath and shook his head. “I'm going to be moving on soon, anyway,” he huffed a laugh at his own foolishness, “it's probably better if he stays scared of me.” He eyed the slightly shorter man thoughtfully, then grinned. “I will absolutely take you up on that shirtless offer, though.”

“Nope, too late, offer's expired, check again next week for our specials,” Curtis gave him a wink and hurried forward again, pausing to murmur something to Adam before he caught up with Lance and Hunk.

The Dire dropped back, giving Shiro a once-over. “You good?”

“Your husband is confusing as hell.”

“He means well, but he took a pretty serious blow to the head seven years ago. Not sure if that's why he's like this, though, since I didn't know him before.” He took a long drink from his water bottle. “You can relax a little, though. I'm not going to shift and attack you for Curtis shoving his tongue down your throat. Or for you kissing back. I am long aware of the effect he can have on people. Usually he keeps his hands to himself, but he's been antsy lately.”

“I think I remember Matt saying something about you being a hardline monogamist,” Shiro nodded, feeling a tension uncoil that he hadn't been aware he was carrying, “so uhm. Thanks. I might have been a little worried. How's your hangover?”

“Better in the dark,” even as he spoke, Adam tilted slightly, and Shiro half-caught him with a grunt and his arm around his waist. The hunter almost dropped his water bottle. Adam tipped his face up, squinting, and put a hand up over Shiro's headlamp with a grumble. “You smell good, you know that?”

“You are _really_ hung over,” Shiro noted in amusement.

“Well, yeah, but. Most humans smell like...sour onion water, at least a little bit. You smell like...like dirt.”

“Gee, you really know how to flatter a guy.” The joke sounded a little flat.

“Like, good dirt. Rolling around in to get it all the way through the underfur dirt. Dust on the edge of a meteorite strike dirt. Stardust.” Adam scrunched up his face. “I said all that out loud, didn't I?”

“Are you sure you're just hung over and not still drunk?”

“No.” Adam gave him a crooked smile. “I was draining a flask on the way over here, actually.”

“You know there are open container laws even in Arizona, right? And laws against drunk driving?”

“Curtis drove. What are you, a cop?”

“Kind of? 'Policing' is sort of right there in the organization's name.” Shiro gently pulled his head away from Adam's hand and peered forward at where Curtis was having a very animated conversation with Lance. “Can you hear what they're talking about?”

“Takashi, I am a drunk and hungover werewolf in a cave system, I can hear the fruit flies fucking in Keith's hair.”

It took all of his self-control not to jerk his head around and shine the headlamp in Adam's face. “Are there--”

“You don't wanna know.” The Dire shook his head, leaning a little more heavily against him as they walked. “Curtis is asking for the details of your tryst. Lance is getting enthusiastic about his replies. Hunk is getting mad, and wants them to change the subject.” He tipped his head back to give Shiro a considering look. “Did you really go all speechless?”

“It...had been a minute.” Shiro heard himself getting defensive, and cleared his throat. “And he's really damn good at it. The bonus of being a demon, I guess.”

Adam hummed in agreement. “They have their perks.” He shot Shiro a sideways look and smiled. “It helps when you're falling in love with them, too.”

The tone was softer and more understanding than Shiro was expecting; he looked down at Adam in surprise, only to jerk his head away with a hasty apology when the Dire snarled. Curtis came hurrying back, wrapping an arm around Adam's shoulders. “What happened?”

“I accidentally flashed him in the eyes.”

“I'm assuming you mean with your flashlight,” the Cuban's brief smile made Shiro's head spin, “all right, come on, dummy. You know better than to have conversations with people wearing bright lights on their heads when you're hungover. You can flirt with Takashi some other time.” He clicked his tongue when Shiro started to jerk his head around again. “We're monogamous, Takashi, we're not blind. Come on, honey, let's walk back by Allura and Sendak where it's nice and dark.” He ushered the Dire back further in the group.

Shiro didn't like the feeling of drowning in his own thoughts, but he was reluctant to hurry forward to walk with Lance and Hunk. He shuffled along, frowning and making sure the rocks on the path were off to the side as he passed them so no one behind him would trip on them. He only looked up when Hunk fell back to glower up at him. He shot the other human a brief, curious glance, then cleared his throat. “Uh--”

“I don't like you, I don't trust you, and I'm going to be keeping an eye on you until you leave Dryreef,” the younger man interrupted, shooting him a sharp look, “but Curtis says you and Lance should talk, and...I think you need to be honest about him so I stop sounding and feeling like a hyper-paranoid boyfriend.”

“Is Lance okay with talking to me?”

“I wouldn't be back here if he wasn't. Now go, before I change my mind.”

With the image of Hunk's homemade rail gun at the forefront of his mind, Shiro hurried forward to walk alongside the demon. He glanced over at Lance's jaw, frowning. “...Are you shrinking?”

Lance's sudden, bright laugh made his spirits lift, and he thought of Adam's observation that he was falling in love. He shoved that away, too. “Yeah, I am. I've lost about a foot and a half since the other night. I dunno, but, I think it might be because I fed off you? I've been doing a little research on Cerberus, and aside from the obvious Greek mythology stuff, I think that your energy is making it so I can regain my preferred form. Cerberi make the Divine mutable, right, and Demons are a type of Divine.”

“That's a pretty good guess, yeah. I don't honestly know the limits of what my power...my energy can do. I've never...uh. Let a demon feed off of me before, so this is new territory for me. Are you mad?”

“No, no. It's kinda great. It's nice, getting back down to what I'm used to. Do, um. Do you usually...hunt demons?” Shiro ducked his head when he saw that Lance couldn't even glance his way.

“No, no. As I understand it, most demons stay so firmly under the radar that it's not an issue, I guess? Mostly what I get sent after is angels and little gods. They usually had the support of the church so they're a lot more reckless about what they are. It wasn't until the Unmasking--”

“The Outing,” Lance corrected automatically.

“Sorry. What?” He felt like he'd been punched in the solar plexus.

“The Outing. Humans call it the Unmasking, but most Extrahumans call it the Outing. You know, because we all effectively got outed. Against our will.”

He put his hand to his stomach, feeling nauseated. “Oh. Fuck. I.” He could feel his pulse in the back of his throat; his vision spiraled down to the narrowest core of his headlamp, and he only managed to gasp a breath of air when Lance laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry. Yeah, sorry. I. I've _been_ outed, I. I can't. I cannot believe I never thought of it that way.”

“See, the difference is, Extrahumans are required to be continuously outed by a series of government tests near the end of childhood and over the course of puberty. We never have an option. We grow up knowing we'll be outed, knowing it might mean we're hunted, or killed.” They walked in silence for a little while, then he gently patted Shiro's shoulder. “Are you...do you want to talk about being outed?”

“My uncle. One of my uncles. He found out I was gay and he was. Concerned. Thought I was a. A threat to my baby brothers.” Shiro felt his jaw tightening and dragged in as deep a breath as he could manage. “He told my other uncles, some of their friends. They called me in for a 'meeting of the men.' I thought it was a kind of graduation, a 'welcome to adulthood' kind of thing. The whole group of them tried to beat me to death.”

Lance was quiet again, then huffed a sigh. “I didn't have a name for what I was until Valjaq took me aside and explained. I was raised Catholic, you know, my whole family—it was...it was horrible to hear someone tell me as gently as he could that I was a demon. I spent a while freaking out, I think he extended his business trip to keep an eye on me. He's a good guy. I was lucky to have one of those to look out for me. I'm...I'm sorry you had to be your own.”

“I looked out for my brothers, too,” Shiro gathered himself a little to give Lance a smile, “they always knew I'd do whatever it took to keep them safe.”

“Including kill Extrahumans you thought were a threat, like your uncles tried to kill you?” The demon asked pointedly.

“Yeah, I'm. Uhm. I'm seeing the hard parallels now and I need. Just a minute. Please?” He shook his head when Lance patted his back gently. “This is supposed to be about. I should be talking to you about. About what you learned, about the things I've done, I'm.”

“I don't think I want to hear you tell me that you've changed,” Lance told him quietly, “I don't think I want to hear you tell me that you're a better man now than you were three weeks ago. I don't think I could handle that, or hearing you try to excuse--”

“I won't,” Shiro reached up to gently take the demon's elbow as they walked, “I won't try to excuse the things I've done. I won't tell you that I'm a better man now than I was before I met you. But I am more thoroughly educated, and that I _can_ tell you. I do wish you had never found out about the things I did, even though I know it's better that you do, because I can't stand the sound in your voice right now. It makes me want to fight people, to see you sad like this, but I know the person I want to fight most is me for making you feel this way.”

They walked along in silence for a while, and Shiro hardly noticed when Lance's arm moved in his grip to a quiet hand-holding as they slogged through the dark. Finally, the demon spoke again. “I don't have the right to say that I forgive you for the things you did before we met. But I'm glad you're not trying to deny them. It's...it's a start.” The quiet sat between them again, more comfortable this time. “Can you...will you tell me about your brothers?”

“Of course.” Shiro felt himself light up at the opportunity. “They haven't spoken to me in years, actually—Ryou told me he never wanted to see me again when I left for the States—but I miss them a lot. They're twins, their names are Ryou and Vorash--”

“That doesn't sound like a Japanese name.”

“No, it's Slavic. Our uh. The guy we're pretty sure is our father had family from all over Europe, his parents moved to eastern Russia when his mother was pregnant with him. Grandfather—his father—always called me 'Sven,' said it was a family name. Mother never cared much for us being in contact with him, but. He bought me my first machete, paid a jeweler to coat it in silver.”

“I don't need all those details,” Lance reminded him gently.

“Right. Anyway, Vorash was named after that side of the family. We all look just like him, that's why we figured he was our father. V's pretty shy, he spends a lot of time hiding behind Ryou's shoulder. I thought. When I was younger, I thought that any Extrahuman near us was a danger to my brothers. I told myself I was protecting them, doing what I did. I know that doesn't excuse it. When Ryou found out, he was furious. He told me to get out, to leave Japan, and that he and Vorash never wanted to see me again.”

“So you moved to the States?”

“I already had plans to. I wanted to make a regular paycheck, but the local branch of HOPE in Japan is rather strict on their policies about hiring people with disorders like mine. The office in the States was more relaxed, but told me if I didn't make the cut, that was it.”

“So you moved to the States to have a license to do what you were already doing in Japan.”

“With...insurance, yeah. Same job.” He felt the quiet between them grow heavier with each step, but was acutely aware that Lance didn't relinquish his hand. “I'm never going to not be a killer, Lance,” he finally managed to admit, bracing himself for suddenly cold fingers, “I can only play dog for so long before I kill it and turn more wolf again.”

“If you think that's what I'm freaked out over you, you really haven't learned anything about me at all,” the demon shot him a sideways look, mouth tight, but he was rolling his eyes and smirking at himself when he looked away again, “which is fair, considering we've been around each other for a grand total of like, maybe eight hours. I'm freaked out because you lied to me.”

The beautiful creature might as well have frozen his blood through their joined hands for the crackling ice that broke over Shiro's nerves. “I--”

“You pretended you didn't know anything about demons, when you're someone—and, sorry but, some _thing—_ that has been specifically sent to hunt the Divine. You would have been taught about demons, your file does include at least two demon hunts, but you harped on ignorance. Why? Were you trying to make me underestimate you so you could lure me out of Dryreef and kill me?”

“Hives,” Shiro corrected after a moment, still focused on the long fingers holding his own, “those hunts were for hives, not singular demons. And...yes. At first, I did have orders to lure you out of Dryreef to kill you. Technically I still have those orders, but I also know that Adam is the kind of person who would not hesitate to call down a war on HOPE for even a single one of his Sanctuary's citizens.” He stumbled over the other words that caught behind his teeth, and took a moment to focus on his footing. “And I think he might be right, and despite all wisdom pointing the exact opposite direction, I might be...falling in love with you.”

Of everything that had surfaced in the conversation so far, Shiro was not expecting that to be what made Lance shake his hand free, much less with a small, disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking serious? I'm still dealing with you lying to me and you break that shit out? Do you even...realize how manipulative that is? 'Oh, Lance, I know I totally misrepresented myself and literally lied about my past and my education level on your people so you'd underestimate and trust me in order to lure you to your death, but it's all okay now because _I love you_ ,' fuck off. You almost fucking had me again.” He shook his head, and Shiro saw the glints of starlight and blizzards in his horns glow visibly even in the flashlights. “Walk somewhere else.”

“That's fair,” the HOPE agent lifted his fingers in a sign of surrender and backed away, lining up with Hunk again. “When he's less...pissed at me,” he began.

“I am not carrying notes for you.” The human's voice was flat and unfriendly. “You armor up and face Lance's wrath or give up and get out of Dryreef. Pretty clear to me not a whole hell of a lot of people want you here in the first place.”

“Fine, then I'll say it to you,” he couldn't stop the sudden crispness in his voice, or the surge of satisfaction at seeing Hunk's skin flinch, “I wasn't trying to manipulate him just now. I don't think he'll believe me if I say it.”

“Because you've already proven that you're a shameless liar?” He had to give the young man credit, his fear was only present in the smallest of signs, even when his wolf's growl rumbled up from between them. He heard Adam's quiet response from behind them and swiftly willed away the manifestation he didn't remember calling out.

“Do you hear that?” He heard Allura quietly ask in the back. He knew she didn't mean the growling contest between him and Adam; there was a low sound that made his ears feel like they were being pressed on.

“Rushing water often sounds like groaning in enclosed spaces,” Sendak rumbled, “I believe it means we are close.”

“Yes, I guess that's.” He dragged in a sigh, trying to center himself. “That's fair, and accurate. I should never have said anything. I'm going to be out of here soon en--”

“Hey,” Keith's voice carried sharp all the way up the group, “does anybody else smell salty ass?”

There was a sudden silence while they all stopped walking and inhaled. Hunk finally nodded. “Yeah, it smells like a... nasty lagoon? Hella low tide?”

“It's a backflow,” Katie explained from the front, the slightly greenish light of her headlamp flashing over the inside of the tunnel, “from the ocean. Runs almost right up to the spring's flow, then parallels it.”

Shiro did a bit of mental math. “Aren't we a bit far inland for a backflow? Is that why it's so loud?”

“Yeah, well, you didn't think it was called 'Dryreef' for nothing, did you?” Hunk stifled a laugh at the blonde's snarky reply.

Shiro sighed, tipping his head and nodding, then moving alongside the big man when they started walking again. “I guess I thought it's called Dryreef because it's a Sanctuary and. Well. I know enough about the ocean to know how reefs work.”

“You didn't actually think about it, did you.” Hunk shot him a sideways look.

Shiro shrugged. “It's Arizona.”

Allura leaned forward, the sudden flash of her glowing hair making both men jump. “Humans named one city here 'Phoenix,' and when it was destroyed in their third enormous war, they named another one outside its radiation lines 'Firebird.' He's got a point, Hunk.”

Sendak leaned around the other side of Shiro, brow ridge raised politely. “We, ah. We don't bring up Phoenix around mixed groups, Firstborn. There are a lot of emotions on both side of the 'humanity barrier' about it.”

“I know the history, Sendak, thank you, I was just--” She leaned back to argue with him, and Sendak leaned back to continue the discussion without putting Hunk and Shiro in the middle of it.

Both of them looked at each other with a faint grimace, then looked away with a slow exhale. Shiro coughed quietly. “Is it less awkward if you go back to berating me about Lance?”

“I mean, it's about a hundred times less awkward than talking about _that_ ,” Hunk shot him another jittery sideways glance, “I'm good with ignoring you, though.”

“Silence sounds great, sure.” He kept his eyes on the portion of the tunnel revealed by his own headlamp. He thought he heard Curtis mutter something behind him, and turned slightly to question the man even as he felt short nails dig into his bicep.

“ **En'ao, usk,** ” Curtis hissed in his ear, “ **a'om ajaerr.** ”

“Wh--” Shiro started to turn further, but Curtis gave him a hard shove forward and he caught himself on Lance's waist to keep from falling on his face. “Fuck. Sorry, sorry. I'm--”

“I heard Curtis,” the demon said quietly, helping him straighten up, “he speaks like that to me sometimes. I've never heard him bust out Divine on anyone else. Guess it does make sense, you speak it though, so.”

“It was aimed at both of you,” they both heard Curtis mutter. Lance looked over his shoulder at the other Cuban, who immediately disappeared back behind Sendak and Allura—whose argument had dissolved into a language Shiro was relatively certain no one had spoken in at least four hundred years—to walk next to his husband, who groaned something about the smell.

“I'm sorry,” Shiro blurted as they turned their attention back to each other. Lance blinked and leaned back a little. “I shouldn't have said anything. It's. You're right, it was manipulative and poorly-timed, and I'm just going to be leaving soon anyway, so it doesn't. Matter. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Are you having a nervous breakdown?” Lance's tone was incredulous.

“I.” Mouth open, Shiro then shook his head to clear it and sighed. “I might be. It kind of feels like it lately. I don't know what to think, or what information to trust. What input. Sorry.”

They walked in silence for a moment, both of them half-listening for Curtis to swear at them over the constant groan of water, before Lance sighed. “It has been a lot, for everyone. It's strange to think a HOPE bl—field agent, sorry, could be someone who actually wants to help us get to the truth and live...better lives. What you did for Allura, it bought you a lot. I'm never going to claim that it didn't, even knowing that it made you stronger in the long run. But I'm...I'm mad at you, Shiro, for lying to me. And...to be honest, if I didn't care about you at all, I wouldn't be.”

There was a sound from up ahead; a scrambling, falling stones, Haxus' sharp cry of “ _Katharine!_ ” Both men jerked upright and bolted towards the skinny chimera's voice, skidding to a collective stop inches behind where Haxus crouched at the edge of a drop.

“I'm fine,” Katie's voice came from only a couple of feet below the edge, so Shiro carefully leaned over Haxus to let his headlamp light the blonde chest-deep in water, “but uh. I don't think the gross ocean smell was coming from the backflow after all.” She was staring off into the cavern, and Shiro lifted his head slowly to brace himself for the look of horror on her face.

The light of their headlamps threw shadows over the still, massive forms of things covered in deep, parallel slash marks. The flow Katie stood in was shallow, but further into the cavern it met up with other flows, deep enough to partially obscure the enormous bodies. As the others caught up and added their headlamps' shine to the scene, Shiro felt his stomach churn. He saw scales, jutting, broken spines, dulled eyes, and childhood memories of fishing docks told him that at least some of the wounds were from fishing nets. He saw rot under some of the scales, and saw Katie start to move away from the path. “Don't--”

“Trenchers,” Lance whispered, leaning back and grabbing Shiro's hand, “someone dragged trench sirens here to rot and pollute the water supply. To poison Dryreef.”

Wrenched from Katie's slow, slogging steps forward, Shiro turned his eyes back to the massive bodies and shook his head. “They dragged them here while they were still alive,” he whispered, barely managing to put any voice behind it. His light slid over old claw marks on the cave walls.

“One of them still _is_.” Katie said, pulling herself up on a relatively dry stone between two flows. “That's not the water we've been hearing.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En'ao, usk, a'om ajaerr--Talk to him, idiot. It's easy.


	20. Dirty Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang begins trying to deal with what they've found in the aquifer.

“Katie, wait, let the rest of us come down,” Keith called, looking around for an easier way down.

“Is it weird that the smell's making me hungry?” James asked, squinting around Sendak's arm.

“Of rotting giant contagious fish monsters from the deepest depths? Yeah, a little. Come on, birdie, there's a ladder here so you don't have to try to jump down in the dark.” Keith tugged him off to the right and preceded him down the ladder. James followed with his eyes mostly squinted shut, grimacing and letting the Extrahuman guide his feet.

Hunk rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at Lance and Shiro, then shook his head. “I am not slogging through that, man, it smells like--”

“Lance!” Katie called back again, desperate. “Come help me! I found her!”

“'Her'?” The demon asked quietly, then leaped down into the water, splattering both James and Keith with the murky stuff. He offered the two of them a bland non-apology and slogged his way after the tiny blonde.

“Your shoulder isn't fully healed,” Sendak grabbed Shiro's arm as the HOPE agent headed for the ladder.

“ _And_ your exposure to the water's been limited so far,” Allura added, tugging on the back of his belt, “we should do our best to keep it that way. We've no idea if the effect is reversible. Siren aren't a kind of Divine, Shiro—you can't big dog your way out of this.”

“She said there's still one alive,” he insisted, trying to pull away, “I've got to help. I've got field medic training.”

“Not for something that big,” Hunk said bluntly, “and anyway, she's a Trencher—it's a flat-out miracle she's survived this long. Fresh water, maybe thirty feet deep where all the flows converge? I have no idea how long they've been down here, but the oldest scratches on the cavern walls hardly look new.”

“Not to mention those wounds,” Haxus pointed out, his lower jaw hanging open slightly as he held his tongue out into the air, “they were there long enough to go septic before their hosts died. Trenchers are hardy, but even their bodies can only endure so much punishment at once. I doubt the one Katharine found will live long.”

“I'll see what I can do to help,” Curtis offered, working his way around them, “I've got medic training, too, and it's more than just a basic course.” He shrugged a shoulder at Shiro when the field agent stared at him. “Plus I've patched up a siren or two in my day. I think. The anatomy looks sort of familiar, anyway.” He flashed them a smile before his head disappeared beneath the edge of the path.

“One of these days he's going to get his memory back and I'm going to find out he's either a horrible serial killer or a volunteer Extrahuman rescuer who worked tirelessly to shut down illegal hunting operations and served in a soup kitchen on his holidays,” Adam sighed from right by Shiro's ear, “either way, I'm probably going to lose him.”

“I mean, if you keep letting him kiss me like he did earlier you'll definitely lose him either way,” Shiro felt his gut lighten as the joke passed his lips, and silently thanked the Dire Wolf for the distraction from the resentment he'd felt building.

Adam bared his teeth, but the sparkle in his eyes said there was little malice behind it. “Maybe it was a decent view, but there's no way I'm letting you get your lips on my Curtis again. Something tells me you wouldn't hesitate.”

“I have eyes,” the HOPE agent shrugged, then turned his head to give the blond a smile. It took him a few breaths to tear his eyes away from Adam's mouth. When he met the Dire's gaze, he saw the amusement in the golden-brown so close to his face and knew his attraction was no secret. He opened his mouth to ask a question--

“What do you mean, _you can't save her?!_ ” Katie's shriek carried Shiro immediately away from Adam and past Sendak and Allura, vaulting into the water and halfway to Katie before anyone behind him could so much as yell his name. Her voice came clearer as he got closer. “You have to save her, Lance, can't you feel how much pain she's in?”

“I...I can hear her groaning, Katie, but no, I can't...feel how much pain she's in. Can you?” Lance's voice was high above the low, constant moan of the gravely wounded trench siren, and Shiro felt his attention scattering as he approached the source of the sound. He gave his head a sharp shake.

“She's a _siren_ , Lance, you just gotta listen!”

“Katie, for the love of fucking everything, _do not listen to the siren_.” Shiro lurched forward to clamp his hand over one of the blonde's ears to hug her other to his chest.

Lance barely glanced up from where he was trying to coax infection from a gash near him. “She's already under the spell, Shiro, don't bother. Give me a—sorry, the gel there. The blue squeeze bottle.”

“Lance,” the HOPE agent said gently, feeling Katie curl into herself against his chest, “Lance, don't bother. You're only causing her more pain in her final moments.”

“I can--”

“Lance,” he repeated, just as soft, “she's gone. She was only strong enough to catch on one of us.”

Katie started keening against his chest. He felt her teeth dig into his shirt and braced himself to lose a piece of his pectoral muscle. He felt the tiny blonde feel the enormous Trencher die, and settled her cheek on her head as her teeth drew blood. The sudden lack of the low groan was deafening. “I've got you, Pidge,” he crooned softly, “I've got you.” He caught her when her knees gave out and held her against him instead, rocking her back and forth to comfort her. “I know, I know it hurts.”

“Shiro?” Lance asked quietly, coming over to put his hand on Katie's back.

“Getting caught in the song of a dying siren feels like getting your guts ripped out through your eyes,” the Cerberus told him, still nose-deep in the thick blonde hair and heedless of the muck it left on his face. “Let's get everybody back to some dry spots so we can strategize, okay? This cavern's big enough, we'll have to pair up and split to get a decent idea of just what the hell happened here.” He felt Katie jerk, and raised his head slightly. “Pidge?” He asked quietly.

“She showed me,” the tiny woman whispered against his bloody shirt, “she didn't have time to be nice about it and she was sorry but we had to know. It's why they all held on so long. They were hoping someone would come down so they could share it. So Dryreef—so _everyone—_ would know. I have it, Taka. HOPE did this. HOPE dragged them to the surface while their organs burst from decompression and the nets cut into their bones. I _felt_ it, Taka, I felt her pain, I heard her sisters and her brother screaming in the water. They shoved them here through--” she was hyperventilating; Shiro pressed his face to her scalp again and shushed her.

“Not right now, you don't have to tell us right now. Let's get up with everyone, okay? Then you only have to go through it once.” He shook his head at Lance when the demon held his arms out in an offer to take Katie from him. “Let's go, sweetheart.” He trudged back towards the high point, where Keith and James were digging through Keith's pack.

The gryphon wore a headlamp but kept hissing every time he heard something splash. “We're in a big open cavern,” Keith was informing him sharply, “it's not a broom closet. Pull it together, feathers.” He looked up as Shiro approached and tipped his head. “Towel first, then the shock blanket,” he instructed, and James straightened up to shake out a huge rectangle of terrycloth.

“You packed towels?” Lance asked, flicking his wings out behind him and looking around for where Curtis had gone.

The Extrahuman shot him a dull look as he helped Shiro wrap Katie in the towel, then accepted the blanket from James to wrap over it. “You're thigh-deep in tainted water, asshat.” He looked up at Shiro and gave him a small nod, then took Katie from his arms. “I've got you, Pigeon.”

“Opossum, I--”

“Grief or anger, Pigeon?” He asked her quietly.

Shiro's head jerked upright. “Keith, don't ask--”

Slowly, the gore-stained blonde head lifted. In the shifting lights, just for a moment, Katie's eyes were the solid pale yellow of heliodor, and then it was gone. “Anger,” she said quietly, mouth tightening in a thin line, “always anger. You know that.”

“You almost forgot.” He gave her a faint smile and a nod, setting her on her feet. “How do we send them...home?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then offered him a tiny smile. “We're going to have to cut them apart. With as bloated as they are now, they won't fit back through the tunnel HOPE shoved them through.” Her expression tightened. “It hurt them so much, Opossum. I felt the concrete scraping off scales and digging into her gills--”

“Panic or anger.” The Extrahuman interrupted her hyperventilating again.

Her jaw tightened. Her eyes flashed again. “Anger.”

“So we take them apart, get them to the backflow, then what?”

“Their blood in that water, the other seafolk will find them and take them home. Green said to pray to all the little gods that their king doesn't retaliate.”

“Green?”

“Their names aren't made to be spoken out of the water. It's the color she likes most. Most of her scales were green, down in the lights of the trenches. Her sister was the most beautiful, all the blues of the oceans in every inch of her scales and just a touch of ice in her wake--”

“Don't get lost in it.” Keith pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. “Lance is going to lift you up to Haxus. You sit it out for now.”

“I should help with her--”

“I promise I will take care of her, Pigeon.” He pressed their foreheads together for a moment, then gently guided her towards Lance, who picked her up and carefully held her clear of the water as he slogged over to the ladder.

Haxus leaned down to take her and pulled her into his lap, tucking the blanket more tightly around her and listening to her carefully when she began to speak. Lance looked up at them for a moment, then gestured to Sendak and Allura. “We're going to send them back to the ocean and we're gonna need all the hands we can get.”

Katie lifted her head from Haxus' shoulder. “Take the sampling containers. With enough of their blood, we can maybe work on a reversal.”

Sendak's hand almost dwarfed her shoulders entirely, but he took her container and Haxus' and followed Allura down the ladder. Hunk leaned over the edge of the rock and offered his to Lance. “I'll be down after Adam,” he promised the demon, “make sure you don't overdo it.”

The demon gave him a little smile. “She said it was HOPE, that put them here. That poisoned everyone. That's turning everyone into seafolk, in the middle of the Arizona desert.” He dropped his eyes for a moment, brow furrowing. “To die.”

Hunk tipped his head to catch his friend's eyes again. “And Shiro?”

Lance shook his head. “Katie lives here, he would never have agreed or kept silent about it. You didn't see his face when Haxus yelled her name. Or see the shadow moving next to him. He was ready to kill, to fight whatever he found. He was terrified that she was hurt.” He looked torn when his gaze turned back to Hunk. “He would never put her in danger. I know that like I know your eyes are brown.”

The human frowned for a moment. “Okay. I'll be down in a minute to help.”

“We're going to be dismembering them, Hunk--”

“Katie needs our help. I can handle it. Go on.” He straightened up and turned to help Adam unbuckle his bag. The Dire looked uncomfortably sober, and very, very angry.

Lance turned around and began sloshing back over to Shiro. He gave the agent a brief, nervous tic of a smile. “Are you feeling okay? You had minimal exposure to the water and now you're uhm. Tits deep in it?”

“Still wolfed out, so still immune. Not sure why, though—my uh. Abilities I thought were only supposed to work in reference to the Divine. As far as I know, no subspecies of seafolk is any kind of Divine, not even Trenchers.” He felt his mouth tilt as he met the demon's eyes. “And I will admit, I have been taught a lot more about the Divine than I initially let on.”

Lance's reflexive, faint smile lifted his heart a little. “Hunk says we should gets samples while we're cutting them apart. I think we should make sure we get a sample from each of them—why are you shaking your head?”

“I just realized we don't have anything to cut them apart with.”

“Don't be stupid,” Keith snapped, then huffed and rolled his shoulders as he pushed James' hands away from the pack between them, “there's hatchets in every bag. My dad was a firefighter, Shiro—he taught me how to pack a kit. Stop trying to help, damnit, you can't see.”

“I have a headlamp on,” the gryphon groused, but he folded his hands in his lap.

“You shouldn't even be here, it's dark and wet and--”

“I'm really trying not to think about the fact that we're underground,” James hissed, “so if you could stop reminding me--”

“ _You shouldn't be here_ ,” Keith leaned into his face, retrieved hatchet in one hand, “ _you're a liability._ ” He stared hard at James' features, making sure his words sank in before turning away and gesturing to the others. “The hatchets are in the inside pouch to the left of the pulls. They're not ideal for this job, but they'll do.”

“Keith,” Lance said softly.

“ _Shut up!_ ” The Extrahuman rounded on him, pointing the hatchet at his face. He bared his teeth when Shiro pulled the demon back behind him. His eyes held a faintly yellow glow in their sclera, and his top teeth looked like they were fusing into a solid line of jagged bone. “Don't you tell me he belongs here just because he's a Guardian! He's blind in the dark, he's claustrophobic, he panics if the water goes above his knees, and _look at what we found._ Look at what it did to Pigeon! She said HOPE did this—HOPE poisoned the Sanctuary! HOPE has been killing us! Do you really think they're going to let us walk out of here? Do you think, when they start actively shooting at us, he's going to be anything but a lead sponge? Adam won't let that happen—he'll put himself between them. He'll die, because huffy pissy crow-boy here--”

“Magpie,” James muttered, but there was little heat to it.

“--Couldn't just stay with the cars like he should have!”

“Keith,” Shiro said gently, “stop swinging that hatchet around or I'll debone you with it.”

The Extrahuman frowned at him for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the weapon in his hand and lowered his hand to his side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I just--”

“I can help,” the gryphon said shortly, straightening up, “I'm not useless. And the water doesn't freak me out as much as it does--”

“Stuff it,” Keith cut him off, looking back towards the ladder.

Adam gripped Curtis' arm with alarmingly furred fingers, and he was breathing more heavily than his exertion or even his rage could have accounted for.

Shiro pushed Lance a little more firmly behind him, knowing all too well the signs and repercussions of a panicking werewolf. “Adam?” He asked, absolutely certain he wasn't yet in fighting fit if the Dire lashed out.

“Fff-ff-fine,” the Guardian managed, then twitched his head and exhaled through his teeth. His eyes closed as Curtis turned to press their foreheads together. He moved one furred, clawed hand to the back of his husband's head and stood there a moment, just breathing in his scent. “I'm hydrophobic.”

A quick visual sweep of the two, and Shiro let his mouth tic upward. “You know that's a symptom of rabies, right?”

He saw the Dire's shoulders twitch and wondered for a moment if he'd gone too far. “Go fuck yourself, Shirogane.”

“Ouch, that's the first time you've called me by my last name. Must have hit close to home.” He offered the blond a smile when he leaned back from his husband to glare. “So we went in to investigate an aquifer with two hydrophobes. Whose idea was that, again?”

“We're Dryreef's Guardians, we have a duty to help keep our people safe,” James reminded him, “and anyway, it's not like we knew we were gonna end up getting _in_ the water.”

“Always assume you're gonna end up ass-deep in whatever you're investigating,” the hunter recommended, “that way, most of the time you'll get a pleasant surprise.” He gave Lance a faint smile as he felt the demon rummaging around in his pack for his hatchet.

“Don't you mean 'balls-deep?'” James sneered, also looking over Shiro's shoulder at the blue-skinned Cuban.

His head felt like it was on stone ball bearings clotted with sand, and it would only turn so fast. Apparently the gryphon found it unsettling, because he was leaning back slightly by the time Shiro's dull grey eyes met his. “No,” he said, softly but firmly, “I don't.” He heard Lance muffle a snicker from behind him, and turned his attention to Curtis and Adam. “I think it will go easier if we start with the big one while we've all got the energy. We're going to be very sore and tired by the time we get to the smallest—Green. That'll give Katie time to say goodbye.” He held out his hand, feeling his lips pull into a smile when Lance settled the handle of the hatchet into his palm without him turning his head back.

Adam looked at him for a long moment, glancing over in James' direction without looking directly at the gryphon. He met Shiro's eyes with a squint, then nodded. “You heard the man,” he said quietly, “let's send them home.” He accepted his hatchet from Curtis, who had dug it out of his pack.

Lance leaned a little over Shiro's shoulder. “I'll see if Hunk can get the lighting rewired in here so we don't need to rely on the flashlights. I saw the power cable severed up by some of the scratches. And I'll ask Katie and Haxus to start setting up a camping spot—something tells me this is gonna take us a while.” He glanced down at the hatchet in Shiro's hand, then back up to the enormous siren. His headlight threw purplish spangles off of some of the black scales.

“Good thinking, Lance, thanks.” Shiro gave him a smile as he sloshed off, then nodded and followed Adam, Keith, and James over to the biggest body. He snagged Curtis' elbow when the shorter Cuban came even with his side. “Where did you go?”

“Pardon?”

“You came down when Katie called. I came back, Lance was attending Green, Katie clung to me, you were nowhere to be seen.” He pulled Curtis to a stop, turning him to face him. The rich blue eyes wouldn't meet his. “So where did you go, Curtis?”

He watched Curtis's eyes flick back and forth, and wondered if the man was going to lie to him. He wasn't expecting the step forward to close the distance between them, or Curtis' arms tightening around his ribs. He returned the embrace immediately, careful of the hatchet in his hand. The Cuban was shaking. “I remembered something,” he whispered in Shiro's ear, “and I didn't want Adam to see me scared. He's terrified of the water, Takashi. He almost drowned in a flash flood when he was a pup. He can't see me scared here.”

He settled his cheek against Curtis' hair. “What did you remember?”

“Nothing concrete. Blood and screaming. Howling. The blood was all over my hands, soaked into my shirt, I--” He shuddered as Shiro gently hushed him, relaxing into the big warm hand stroking soothingly down his back.

“Everyone told me that you had a head injury when Adam found you,” the Cerberus noted quietly, “that can cause—hey, no, listen—the kind of imbalance in your inner ear that makes the whole world sound like it's howling, and you were probably bleeding. Head wounds bleed a lot. This is progress, but it's no reason to be scared. You're safe, okay? No one here is going to let you get hurt.” He waited until he felt Curtis nodded against his shoulder, lifting his hand to stroke the man's hair as he released him. His palm tingled with familiar sensation.

“You gonna help us or cop feels on my husband all day?” Adam called irritably.

“Yeah, sorry, just wanted to put my hand on him before I can't feel it for a while.” Shiro joked, waving Curtis on as they slogged over to join the others. Sendak had already started looking for a spot to start, circling the massive siren with a faint frown. He caught Shiro's eye and motioned along a deep cut left by a fishing net. The hunter nodded and found a spot of his own to start on.

The work was grueling. They were covered in thick, oily blood and rotten sludge from the crown of their heads all the way down to the water line. Shiro's shoulder was almost as sore as the ragged stump throbbing with his pulse. He could barely drag himself to the dry point, and slumped down next to Adam as he watched Curtis and Sendak rinse each other with water straight from the spring's central point. He heard the chimera grumble something about the temperature, but couldn't process the words.

His head hurt from squinting in the shifting headlights. Hunk still hung from carefully-set pitons lodged into the wall, trying to get the wired lights to work. Shiro leaned heavily against the Dire with a soft squelching sound he didn't want to think about too deeply. “You're not rinsing?”

Adam grunted softly. “I bathe alone. I'd rather panic personally.” He tipped his head to look over his shoulder at the body they'd been working on all day. “We're going to be here all week if we don't find a better way to do this.”

“I'm open to suggestions, Guardian.” He sighed, tipping his head back slightly.

“You manifest a giant wolf-dog with now thirteen heads. I turn into a wolf the size of my van. James turns into a gryphon only slightly bigger than I am. Sendak and Haxus--”

“We are not sinking our teeth into those things,” Sendak informed them bluntly, shaking himself from several yards away before he took his towel to the thick fur covering his body. Shiro barely had the energy to let his eyes slide down the wet fur to the lump of the chimera's genital sheath between his legs. Some muffled part of his brain began making lewd suggestions, but he could barely hear it through his exhaustion. “Not me, not my partner, not you or Shirogane. Just drinking water with their diluted blood in it has been enough to start changing the city's population into seafolk, the undiluted article could easily be powerful enough to kill us outright even if we could manage to dismember them without accidentally swallowing any.”

“I could--” Shiro began, but the look Sendak shot him stopped the words in his throat.

“You are immune to a siren's charms when your heads are all wolf, that doesn't mean it can't shift you. Your body is still human, Shirogane, and it can still be altered.”

“So I should check myself for scales while we're doing this?”

“Since I doubt the acolytes' glamour will hold a pale candle to the Firstborn's, and we are on the far edges of the spell, yes. You might be able to feel them. It will swiftly become a problem in the streets if that spreads to the populace.” The big chimera shook his head, but frowned and lifted his eyes when the wall lights flickered.

“Hey,” Adam said firmly, “here's a question. Do you really think we didn't end up with that shit in our mouths after today, getting covered in it? We walked away from that corpse soaked through to the skin, Sendak. If it was going to kill us, we'd be dead.” He looked up at Hunk as the lights came back on and stayed this time. “But you may have a point. We shouldn't put any more of it in our mouths than we can avoid.”

“Then how are we going to take them apart without the project taking months?” Shiro asked tiredly, rolling his head back against Adam's shoulder. He realized slowly that the Dire's arm had come around him at some point, and fuzzily tried to figure out when it had happened and how he hadn't noticed it. He reached up to touch the gleam of Adam's ring under the layer of gunk coating the both of them.

The three of them exchanged a long look. Curtis splashed over and picked up his towel, heedless of his nudity. Shiro's mind focused sharply on the water sliding down the sharp cut of Curtis' hips, trailing down the sleek, muscled thighs and leaving shining paths around the thick patch of visibly soft brown curls surrounding the base of his penis. Shiro wet his lips and felt Adam squeeze his hand. He managed to raise his eyes, and realized that Curtis was staring back at him with just as much hunger as he was feeling. He shook his head, woozy, and returned the tight grip to Adam's hand. “Whu--”

Sendak cleared his throat. “I will help you bathe, Shiro. I think perhaps Adam would prefer Curtis help him.” He offered his hand, nodding at Adam when the Dire slowly let go of the Cerberus' fingers to let him up.

“You're already clean, Sendak,” Lance piped up from behind Shiro and Adam, “I'll help Shiro get washed. Curtis.” He flicked his eyes over to the other Cuban and raised both eyebrows. His wings fluttered rapidly, and Curtis slowly moved his attention to his husband, jaw flexing. Lance nodded, moving forward to grab Shiro's wrist and haul him to his feet. “Come on, Shiro. Out of these clothes so they can be sanitized in that collapsible tub Keith put in Curtis' pack.”

“Pity we can't be,” the HOPE agent said tiredly, leaning against Lance as the demon helped him over to the spot they'd been using as a bathing area. The water pooled murky around the little rise in the center, but didn't flow into the primary aquifer. As Shiro watched, the water slowly cleared, until the only discoloration visible came from the faintly glowing moss at the bottom, “what--”

“All forms of plant life have filtering qualities of some kind, Shiro,” Lance reminded him with a smile, helping him with the button on his pants, “Katie says she altered the properties of the moss over here so we don't have to worry about adding more contaminants to the water. I think Haxus was going to help her spread it in the main cavern to start taking...all of that out.” He glanced over his shoulder back to the partially-dismembered black trencher, then nodded, holding Shiro's hips to help him balance as the hunter stepped out of his jeans.

He watched the way Lance's eyes dropped over his now-naked body, even covered in grime as it was, and turned a richer blue even as they started to glow a little more vibrantly. “Lance?”

“Sorry,” the demon gave him a little smile, “long day of hard labor, I'm hungry even though I ate last night.”

“Let's get clean first, and then I'll be happy to feed you.”

“You are exhausted--”

“We all are. Doesn't mean you should go hungry.”

He watched the demon's desire to keep his distance war with his hunger, but felt only a kind of sad resignation when Lance slowly nodded. “Okay. But nothing too involved, everyone's too--”

“Whatever you need, Lance. I'm okay.” He touched the demon's shoulder gently, and watched his jaw flex. “Are you worried you might take more than I offer because you're mad at me?”

Another hard flex, and Lance scooped up a bucket of water to dump it over his head. He barely heard the cheeky reply over his own sputtering: “I'm not the monster here, Nightmare Hound.”


	21. Getting Dirtier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro feeds Lance. They have an audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is gratuitous porn, feel free to skip it if it makes you uncomfortable.

Thoroughly clean and warm in one of the thick towels Keith had brought—Shiro made a mental note to ask the Extrahuman how he paid for all these nicely ensorcelled objects—Shiro let Lance lead him down a small side tunnel away from the main campsite set up just around a stone wall from the huge cavern containing the trench sirens. Someone had already set up a small nest there, and pulled one of the lanterns from the supply locker Haxus had found built into one of the tunnel walls. The little tunnel ended swiftly in a small cave, already warm and comfortable from the lantern's fire. The bottom most layers of the nest looked like they had been there a while, but one of the shock blankets had been carefully laid out over the top of it and tucked into place like a fresh sheet.

He glanced at the demon, then settled himself into the nest and let go of the towel. The terrycloth sliding over his suddenly-sensitized skin made him shiver, and the look on Lance's face when he took half a step forward made him dizzy. He was glad he was already sitting down, and lifted his hand to beckon the demon closer. As his weight shifted in the nest, he realized that beneath the layers of old fabric, the base must have been something stuffed with some kind of curd fill, and hoped the bean bag didn't burst in the middle of things. The frame beneath it offered a comfortable resistance, but he had no desire to pick styrofoam bits from places otherwhere, or explain them to anyone who might see.

His mind was wandering, and he knew it was a testament to how tired he was, because Lance was sinking to his knees in front of him—body still wet and fine brown curls slicked down, his towel had gone straight into a complicated wrap over the too-soft brown hair between and around his horns—and sliding taloned hands up his thighs. “A king on his throne,” the demon hummed, following the lines of Shiro's legs up to his hips and pulling him forward into a more reclined position. He leaned forward, pressing his face to the side of the man's knee for a moment before lifting the pressure and inhaling up the length of his inner thigh.

Shiro shuddered again. Lance had barely touched him and his skin already felt like it was full of pinpricks and fire. “What's a king to a demon?” He joked hoarsely, trying to lighten the intensity pouring from the hungry creature between his legs. Lance's towel brushed his chin as the demon finished his full-body scenting by snapping his head up an inch from Shiro's face.

“A _feast_.” The word was practically growled, and the kiss Lance gave him ripped the air from his lungs with all the force of a hurricane. He wasn't sure he could have made a sound to express how it made him feel if he'd been able to summon the will. He felt the icy trails of Lance's claws drag down his thighs, and let his legs fall apart helplessly. He could already feel his mind retreating, letting the leggy brunette take control again as though the first time had been the only practice they needed.

He couldn't fathom how much he wanted Lance—even his heart-filling, mind-blowing whirlwind relationship with Matt had never made him crave feeling this weak and helpless. No one he had ever been with had made the wolf want to be mild in every moment, but here was Lance, bringing him happily to heel in the span of a few movements. He let his hand settle on the back of the demon's neck and wondered if he was seeing stars because Lance had that effect on him or he just wasn't being allowed to breathe.

The kiss broke with a hard gasp, and his lungs rattled as they dragged in air. He managed a small, broken sound when those now-puffy lips lowered to his jaw, then his neck. The attention to his scars there was thorough and demanding, each flick of tongue and drag of teeth claiming the head behind the wound, until all thirteen marks belonged to Lance, and Shiro wouldn't have disputed it for every star in the night sky. He felt his fingers tighten on the blue-skinned shoulder when Lance's head moved down further, and thanked no one in particular that the blanket beneath him was soft on his missing shoulder when his spine automatically arced into the mouth searing its way across his chest.

His mind was whirling, flung from one half-formed desire to another. He wanted—he felt—he needed—the only connecting thread between any of it was that they could all be simply ended in Lance's name. He wanted _Lance_ , he felt **Lance** , _he needed_ _ **Lance**_. Right then, all the time, every moment, all of him, forever. His fingers spasmed as the last word echoed in what of his brain could focus, and he tried to open his mouth to speak again.

Lance's tongue flicked across a nipple, and his breath came out in a choked whine instead of any of his intended words. His breath in shattered on his tongue at the following scrape of heavy teeth. He felt his legs spread wider, his body begging even before the fire in his blood had managed to spur his tired muscles to clutching the demon closer. He huffed a whimper through his nose when Lance straightened up to look down at him.

“Not that,” the demon told him, quietly but firmly, “you're too tired, and so am I.”

He found himself nodding before the words had entirely registered, and swallowed the reflexive, 'whatever you want,' that tried to surface even as he knew he meant it. He'd give Lance whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, and he wouldn't hesitate a second. He shoved the feeling aside to examine later.

His world tilted again as Lance dropped his head, mouth landing hot in the crease between his thigh and groin and shocking a yip from him. His hand lifted to a horn, pressing against the heaving skin of his belly, and he stroked it with numb fingers. Boiling to the front of his mind came the cheery image from their first meeting; Lance, outlined by stars and underlit by candlelight, flashing a smile with, 'I'm like, _really_ good with my mouth.' Shiro groaned and wondered if the blue-skinned beast would ever give him back his soul after this.

Initial impressions indicated no, with the way Lance licked and nibbled and sucked at every tender point without touching his shaft with anything more stimulating than the accidental flutter of long eyelashes. That barest touch had sent him bucking up against the demon's face, leaving a small cut from a fang on his inner thigh and not caring a whit. Everything seemed to spiral when Lance's mouth settled over the cut and gently tugged on it with a little suction, pulling Shiro's blood across his tongue with a sigh through his nose.

It wasn't meant to be teasing, he knew. Lance's attentions were foreplay, an appetizer for him, angry with Shiro as he was, but every muscle in the hunter's body already trembled with exhaustion, and the demon's mouth was making him shake apart. His grip on the horn tightened and he tugged lightly.

He might have heard a quietly admonishing 'patience,' hummed up from between his thighs, but his sense of hearing was overwhelmed by the roar of his own lust in his ears when Lance's mouth finally settled over the tip of his shaft and the point of his tongue dug mercilessly under his foreskin. His breath left him again, though if he managed a sound this time he couldn't say for certain. He felt the demon's thick purr against his skin, and released the horn in his grasp to grab the top of the nest in a vain attempt to anchor himself to something other than the feeling of being tossed from one crest of pleasure to another.

Anything he managed to process visually was narrowed to the way Lance's eyes rolled up to meet his, so he missed the momentary shadows at the mouth of the small tunnel. He couldn't look away from the glowing blue gaze of the hungrily feeding creature, and for a moment thought he could feel his energy winding out of him and pouring itself down Lance's throat. Watching the demon swallow, feeling the pull of his throat, almost pushed Shiro over the edge. He had to mentally throw himself backwards to keep himself from coming right then.

Lance was doing this because he needed to feed, he reminded himself sharply, if they drew it out, he would get more energy. He felt his hips buck in objection and choked on the way Lance's eyelids fluttered at the motion. The demon's long fingers tightened on his hips, pulling him closer, holding him against the hungry mouth, the pulsing throat and maddening tongue. Shiro had no doubts at all that he was being devoured for everything he could offer, and wondered if Lance would swallow him whole if he knew that all of Shiro was already his to consume.

He spasmed forward again at the thought, and couldn't even find enough detachment to laugh at himself for letting every stray thought about Lance make his skin feel hotter. His face was burning; he could feel the blood throbbing just under the surface and he hoped Lance was enjoying how thoroughly he'd already come undone. He exhaled the embarrassment, and for just a moment it felt as though the feeling was being pulled out of him, too.

That brought his head up, and he felt his jaw tighten. His energy was for _Lance_ , and he'd be damned if he was going to share it with anyone else. He saw a flash of gold eyes at the end of the tunnel, and felt something in his belly clench when he realized that Adam was watching them, Curtis on his knees in front of him while he leaned against the wall with a hand in his husband's hair. He saw the Dire's head tilt, but he'd already lost his grip and was falling through orgasm with a whine. He didn't even have time to drag his eyes back to Lance's before his head fell back against the nest and his world greyed out.

He came to with the demon laying little kisses on his belly and inner thighs, and let Lance know that he was aware by dropping his hand to the thick towel twined around his head. He remembered they'd had an audience, dragging his head upward on his neck to look down the tunnel, where Adam still stood guiding Curtis' head. His mouth tried to form words, to tell Lance, and the younger man smiled against his skin.

“I know they're watching. The professor likes to watch. He doesn't always remember to ask in words first. You okay? I can tell them to leave if you want.” He couldn't voice anything in response, but the vague shake of his head seemed enough for the Cuban. “I didn't figure. Not a lot of guys get off that hard when they realize they've got an audience.” He nipped the edge of Shiro's navel when the hunter's brows drew together, immediately replacing the expression with vague want. “Would you like to see them better?”

He let the thought slide around in his head for a minute, wondering what Adam's body would look like, damp and in the lantern light, slick with sweat as he thrust against Curtis' mouth. Curtis' back tensing and flexing with each shift in position—he shook his head to clear it, then met Lance's eyes and shook it again in a clear negative. He wanted to keep his focus where it belonged.

He wanted to make up for his mistakes.

He wanted to make Lance forgive him.

“Okay.” He'd feed him everything, shrivel himself up to a dried husk, if it would take away the wall he found at the back of those too-blue eyes. It worried him. He was exhilarated; he'd only felt close to this way once before, and Lance didn't inspire the terror that had come along with it the first time. “You good with them staying there?”

He wanted more. Logic told him it was simply that he was still hungry, but the rest of him whispered that Lance wanted more of _Shiro_. He nodded, trying to will himself through his refractory period under those watchful blue and gold eyes. He saw a flash of Lance's smile, still guarded, but genuine, and breathed a little easier.

“Can you move enough to kneel and lean over the back?”

The question threw his mind into another dizzying spiral, and he found himself nodding before he could actually feel connected with his head again. He wasn't entirely certain what Lance intended to do, but that kind of position was an offering and he was ready to be sacrificed to hunger of the blue-skinned creature before him. He struggled to get up for a moment; Lance's hands helped him steady, and he settled back against the tilted nest with the soft fabric of the shock blanket teasing his swollen nipples. He made a small sound at the sensation as Lance guided his knees into spots that would keep him steady.

He felt the leggy demon step back and knew he was being shown off, looping his arm over the back of the 'throne' to stabilize himself at the thought of those curious gold eyes sliding over the curve of his ass and the shadows between. He heard motion at the mouth of the cave and looked over his shoulder; Curtis was shifting on his knees, head down, to turn and face them while Adam sunk to his knees behind him. He swallowed a whine, wondering if the Dire intended to mimic Lance or--

The careful pressure of claws millimeters from his anus made him clench, and he felt the breath of Lance's laugh even as the sound reached his ears. “I want to taste,” the demon told him quietly, brushing his lips next to his fingers, “is that okay?”

His ears rang. “Fuck,” he choked out, flexing his hips against the careful pressure, “yes. Fuck yes. Anything.” _Anything you want. Anything you need._

Lance hummed, and Shiro tried to identify the emotion behind the sound—satisfaction, smugness, pleasure—but he stopped even trying to wrangle cohesive thought as he felt Lance's breath against his skin again. He managed to recognize ' _oh that's why he was so thorough cleaning me_ ,' as it drifted past his consciousness, but even that shredded away under the wet, insistent pressure of the demon's tongue. It pushed a low keen out of him even as it worked its way around the twitching ring of muscle, and Shiro dug his fingers into the back of the nest as though he was afraid the world might spin away.

The teasing slide of those sharp claws against his tender, delicate skin made a dizzying counterpoint to the soft push of Lance's tongue. Some part of him wanted to swear at the demon for being so gentle and careful. Another part of him wanted to babble gratitude for the tender display, even if it was false. He heard Curtis rasp something that sounded like ' _Qochata_ ' but couldn't lift his head again to look back over his shoulder to see what had prompted it.

He felt Lance pull back and whined, but relaxed against the demon's chest as he felt one slim arm wrap across his ribs to pull him upright. He shook his head a little as he felt Lance's body flex, heard a metallic screal from under his knees, and managed a questioning noise. The demon's laugh was warm in his ear. “It's one of those cup chairs under there,” he informed the hunter as they turned to face Adam and Curtis, “they're supposed to swivel.”

“Oh,” he managed, turning his head to press his face against the curve of Lance's throat with a sigh, “okay.”

“Takashi,” his name was the sweetest music on Lance's tongue, “look.” The word opened his eyes and lifted his head before he completely registered it, obedient to every whim of the blue eyed man cradling him in his arms.

Curtis was on his knees and elbows, ass up in the air and rocking back against Adam's hand with wet, lewd sounds. His head hung, low whines and attempts at words and his husband's name filtering up through the shag of his hair. Adam's other hand slid across the tilt of Curtis' hips, and the Dire watched him with a fond smile. Those gold eyes raised to meet his, and the smile turned into a smirk. Adam leaned down over Curtis' back, murmuring something Shiro didn't quite catch. The brunette gave a nod and series of vaguely assenting sounds, and Adam's arm flexed.

The small cave flooded with the sound of Curtis' not-so-muffled shriek, and Shiro felt his entire body flush. He let Lance tilt him forward again, unable to drag his eyes away from Curtis' hips slamming back against Adam's hand. He vaguely registered out of the corner of his eye that Adam was looking over his shoulder at Lance, but couldn't bring himself to turn his head to decipher the silent conversation. His head dropped when he felt Lance spread him again, mouth dropping open at the claws drifting over the tight ring of muscle just before Lance dove back in.

His screech rivaled Curtis', and he turned his head to press his open mouth against his forearm in an attempt to at least give the others down the tunnels the ability to deny knowing what was happening. Lance's mouth was unrelenting and everywhere, tracing circles and flicking over edges, diving deep as his fingers—claws not as retracted as they probably should have been, which only made Shiro beg harder—pulled him open for deeper exploration.

Lance's tongue was longer than anyone he'd let do this before, and some part of his brain settled it into the 'perks' column for bedding a demon. He felt it squirm deeper inside of him, couldn't make his mouth make shapes to form words to beg, but he figured the sounds he made got his message across admirably when sparks flashed across his vision. His body bucked away from the surge of stimulation, and he grabbed at the back of the nest when it felt like the chair might tip with the sudden motion.

He should have known better than to think he could escape. Lance focused on his prostate with unerring accuracy, following every spasm and roll of his hips with a determination that left him wheezing and helplessly whining with each firm pass of his tongue over the area. He managed to drag his attention forward when he registered the sound of Curtis' low moan, and focused his eyes just in time to see Adam sink himself into his husband to the hilt and hold himself still while Curtis squirmed and whined beneath him. That golden gaze lifted to Shiro even as Adam gently stroked Curtis' back, and the hunter felt just as pinned and helpless as the man unable to so much as lift his head.

He felt Lance pull back slightly, and whimpered at the loss of the heat from his mouth, but it was also partly relief. He was overwhelmed, overstimulated, and he needed to catch his breath, which wasn't easy with Adam boring holes in his lungs with the look on his face. He saw Curtis' fist clench in his own hair, and dropped his eyes to the motion.

Lance's voice made him jump. “You've been big dog today, Takashi.”

He didn't feel like he was in charge any more, not with the way Lance's touch made him so weak and the way Adam's eyes made him want to offer himself right alongside Curtis, to be touched or fucked or neglected as the Dire desired. His mind was stuck in a cycle of subservience, and Lance's gentle prompt was trying to tug him out of it. He didn't want to go; he was enjoying himself where he was. He shook his head and tipped his hips back against Lance.

The demon hadn't been expecting it. Bent over Shiro to speak into his ear, the motion pushed the hunter's damp ass against Lance's erection, and they both shuddered. Shiro even whimpered and tipped his hips further, rubbing himself against the length he already knew, but not nearly well enough for his liking. It drew a rattling, almost reptilian hiss from Lance's throat. The sound only made Shiro try to get his knees further apart.

He saw Adam raise a brow, eyes locked over his shoulder with Lance, then managed to sort of track the flight of the small bottle of lube the Dire tossed the demon behind him. Lance caught it with one hand, and Shiro noted with delight that two of the fingers on the hand briefly in his view were already retracting their claws. “Nice or angry, Takashi?” The demon asked quietly, over the sound of the bottle cap opening and the lube being squeezed out.

His mouth formed the word three times, but it took him that long to find voice to put behind it. “Angry,” he finally whispered, watching the response twitch a smile up onto Adam's face, “you're mad—you're mad at me, Lance. Fuck me like you're mad at me.”

He thought he heard someone mutter, “fucking _shit_ ,” but it didn't sound like Curtis or Lance and Adam's mouth didn't move. It fled his mind to wonder when he felt one slick, cold finger push into him, and he screeched. Two thrusts with the one, and Lance immediately pushed the second one in, rough enough to sting but not enough to actually hurt him.

It felt like scratching an itch, the satisfaction dug so deep. He could feel Lance's palm slam up against him with each thrust, and he couldn't even keep his head up to watch Adam start thrusting into Curtis just as roughly, so he laid his head on his forearm and let each motion push small, pleading wails from his lungs.

He barely had time to prepare himself for the thick head of Lance's length. One moment the fingers slid out, the next they were replaced by the rounded head of the demon's shaft, which sank into him with almost as much speed as Lance had been using with his fingers. He gagged when he felt Lance's hips settle against his, managing to turn his head and bite into his arm at the feeling of being so full. He was going to burst, to die with Lance so deep inside him he could practically feel the heat of him all the way up his spine, and he wouldn't regret a single moment of it. Some giddy part of him wondered if the death would grow him a new head; a new scar on his neck with Lance's name carved into it from the outset.

He caught his breath after a few moments and realized the demon had paused to let him do so. He wasn't sure if he was absurdly pleased or a little irritated that Lance hadn't just laid into him immediately, and turned his head to say something snide.

Lance's clean hand fisted in his hair, claws grazing his scalp in a way that left icy trails shivering down his entire body, and pulled his head up a little. He yelped, but melted into the sensation as Lance's slick hand settled on his good shoulder and pulled him back and down, harder against him. He went limp into the grip, letting Lance direct his body like a puppeteer, slamming into him again and again and snarling in his ear as he got closer. He could feel the demon starting to uncoil, shifting back towards his bigger size, growing inside him in a way that made him keen with every thrust. It burned. He wanted more.

The hand on his shoulder flexed with a click of chitin plating; Shiro felt his eyes snap open as he realized he may have pushed Lance too far, but the sudden icy fear across his nerves was dulled by the demon's lust working its way through him. He looked over at Adam, who didn't seem at all concerned, still watching them as Curtis writhed beneath him, and wondered if killing him like this hadn't been the plan all along. Lance had called him the Nightmare Hound; they knew exactly who and what he was.

It was starting to hurt, even around the pleasure, but he couldn't find voice to tell them. He tried to tell Adam with his eyes, but the Dire's expression only slid to something closer to orgasm as he bent over his husband. He heard something behind Adam and Curtis, wondered if his audience was bigger than initially revealed, and yelped when Lance yanked him back one last time with another of those hard hisses.

Everything inside him felt hot and freezing all at once, and he scrambled to grab at the nest as the demon's thrusts slowed and left hot, sticky mess already slipping down his thighs. The substance soothed the hurt immediately. Lance pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and Shiro dismissed the thoughts his fear had produced. The demon was too sweet, too emphatic about not killing during a feed to so do, even as angry and hurt as he was.

He felt boneless, unable to make his body move as Lance draped over him, wings buzzing softly before settling to hold in their body heat. He managed to raise his eyes at a low growl from Adam, and saw a flash of claws at the ends of Curtis' fingers digging into the floor as the Dire came. It made him shudder, and he set the feeling of wanting that inside him, too, aside to mock himself over later. He made a small sound as Lance kissed his neck again.

“You okay?”

“Mmn. Is your jizz an anesthetic?” He couldn't think of a better way to ask the question, could barely think at all, watching Curtis' come splash onto the floor and licking his lips against the sudden desire to taste it.

Lance started to giggle, and Shiro felt him starting to shrink again. It made the demon slide out of him, and he only objected to the absence a little. “Yeah, actually, it does have painkilling properties,” Lance cackled in his ear, and slid his hand up Shiro's messy thigh even as he moved his hips away, “and aphrodisiac ones.” He plunged his fingers back inside the overstimulated hunter, who moaned weakly but tilted his ass back in invitation. “Wanna go again?” He teased up against Shiro's ear.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” the Cerberus panted, already rocking his hips to work up a rhythm against Lance's hand, “that's not fair.”

“Not sure who told you that demons play fair,” Adam rasped, one arm bracing himself against the wall so he didn't collapse on top of his husband, who was already squirming and whining again, “but you should shoot them.”

“Yeah, later,” Shiro agreed distractedly, gasping as Lance scissored his fingers. He shivered as he felt the demon's lips against his ear again.

“You see, this is how we used to get people to let us fuck them to death,” Lance hummed, then pulled his fingers free and ignored Shiro's disappointed whine.

“It's also why you probably shouldn't let a demon top,” Adam noted dryly, finally pulling himself free of Curtis and steadying his husband when it looked like the brunette might just melt into the streaky puddle on the floor.

“I feel like that's definitely something that should have been included in my lessons, yeah. They sort of covered 'don't fuck a demon' but didn't really go into a lot of detail otherwi--” Shiro bit into his arm when Lance sank his fingers back into him, eyes rolling back. He managed to refocus as he saw the demon lean around him to give him a wicked grin. “Cheater,” he muttered, but there was no rancor behind it, “please?”

“You are going to be sore enough already when the anesthetic wears off,” Lance shook his head, then raised it at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The bright smile that melted over his face made Shiro's heart hurt. “Hey, Hunka Chunka! What are you doing back here?”

Having skidded to a stop in the dark behind Adam and Curtis, Hunk immediately turned his back and covered his eyes. “Oh holy crow, Professor, I'm so sorry! Keith said Lance was going feral on Shiro so I--”

“Aw, did you rush down here to keep me from killing him?” The demon pulled back, dragging his fingers out of Shiro in a way that made the man yip and Hunk's shoulders curl upward. “I don't deserve you. I'm okay, and he's okay. He wanted me to get rough, is all.” He leaned back down a little, curling his thumb just inside the ring of Shiro's wet opening and pulling him back by the grip gently. It pulled a wracked keen from the hunter's mouth. “Tell Hunk you're okay, Takashi.”

“Ffffffffffffine,” the man managed hoarsely, twisting and nearly falling out of the nest, “fuck, Lance _please_ \--”

He hadn't seen Hunk's shoulders square up, but his voice was firm when he spoke. “Stop teasing him, Lance.”

The touch gentled, then slid away. “Yes, Hunk. Sorry, Shiro. Is Keith okay?”

“You freaked him out a little, but I think he's taking it out on James. They started arguing as I was leaving. Get...get cleaned up and come eat food, okay? Seems like you could probably all use it. I'll see if Keith packed any of those butthurt pillows.”

Lance's laugh made the lantern burn brighter. “That's not what they're called. But thanks, man. We'll be out soon.”

“Okay. And maybe stop involving our professors in your weird kinky shit.” He left as quickly as he'd come, and even with him in the dark, Shiro could tell he was mortified.

 


	22. Good Plans Are Difficult To Invent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for accelerating the cleanup are discussed over dinner.

It took a few moments for Shiro to regather his thoughts, and when he could focus again, he realized that Lance and Adam were both gently wiping down their respective partners with soft, damp cloths. He smiled over his shoulder at the demon, who smiled back. He was starting to look much less demonic already, now only a few inches taller than Shiro and with barely any horn showing. His skin was more a blue-tinted dark tan than just blue, and the sclera of his eyes were more ash grey than black. He was still beautiful, as far as Shiro was concerned, but much less monstrous-looking.

Something about the more human features on his face jangled an alarm in Shiro's head, but he ignored it to swing his attention over to Curtis, who had propped his chin on his hands and was wiggling his ass around as Adam was trying to clean it. The man gave Shiro a bright smile. “Feel better?” He asked cheerfully.

It bubbled a laugh up from under his ribs, and he felt himself relax a little more. “Yeah, actually, a lot. I should ask Lance to rail me more often.”

“I am always down to clown,” the demon informed him, pressing a kiss to the curve of one reddened ass cheek, “and doubly ready to bang your thoughts out of your head. I really would not have figured you for such a sub.”

“I'm not always,” Shiro assured him, “just everything that I've been learning here has really messed with my head, so it's nice to turn it off and let someone else do the driving.”

“Mm, next time you drive, it takes a lot out of me.” Lance leaned back and pulled Shiro upright with him. “Let's go get you cleaned out and up.”

Heart fluttering at the suggestion, Shiro nodded, stumbling along gamely into the dark. He used the latrine trench dug ten yards away from the campsite and let Lance half-guide, half-carry him back to the bathing area. “You still mad at me?” He asked delicately as Lance gently cleaned him.

“Of course I am. Letting me pound you into a pulp doesn't make up for you being a manipulative dick.” The words were sharp, but Lance gave him a small smile. “But like I said. I wouldn't be mad if I didn't care about you. It's going to take me time to forgive you, Shiro, and anything we do in the meanwhile is great, but doesn't really have bearing on that. Okay? I'll tell you when I stop being mad.”

“Okay. Thank you.” He leaned against the slim chest, humming, just letting the demon hold him up as he cleaned him. His muscles wanted even less to do with him than they had the first time he'd bathed. “I uh. Was not expecting...”

“Adam and Curtis? I thought they made it pretty clear they wanted to get you naked and play pay-per-view Twister.”

“I don't really expect that kind of thing from someone I've been told is monogamous.”

“Monogamous just means he and Curtis don't fuck with other people separately, Shiro. Doesn't mean they don't want to see you get railed, or are totally against a threesome. Though that might take a little bit of convincing Adam. I think it's partly a wolf thing? But even wolves sometimes have polycules, so--”

“Lance,” Shiro interrupted him gently, “I'm rapidly losing the ability to stand.”

“You're all clean.” Lance wrapped him back up in his towel—Shiro hadn't even noticed him pick it up—and scooped him up in his arms as Adam and Curtis arrived. “All yours, guys.” He paused when Curtis lifted a finger, and held Shiro closer as the other Cuban leaned over to press a kiss to the HOPE agent's forehead.

“You're beautiful when you're totally wrecked, Takashi,” Curtis told him with a smile.

“How the hell would you know? You never lifted your head.”

“I know how to watch through my hair.”

“You need to stop being perfect or I really will steal you from your husband.” Shiro threatened, giving Adam a soft smile. “I'll pack you and Lance on the back of my bike and hide you away somewhere just for me.”

“And just let me starve to death?” Lance lifted both brows when Shiro frowned up at him. “I can't feed off of Curtis, and you'd be out doing evil minion things a lot of the time. C'mon; Hunk said there's food ready.”

“No, Hunk said there's MREs ready,” Shiro corrected, puzzling through the new information. He waved idly at Curtis and Adam as Lance carried him away.

“Hunk can make MREs taste good. Trust me, I've been living on them and fast food out at the manor for a while now.” He settled Shiro by the fire and tucked an extra blanket around him for good measure. “Don't suppose that magic tub dries the clothes, too?” He asked Keith, who was rolling up MRE wrappers and turned beet red at the sound of his voice.

James clicked his tongue. “No, and if you're going to bang a screamer, pack a ball gag or something, would you? The rest of us don't need to hear that. And put a second towel on or something, don't just wander around with your dick flapping.”

“First of all, ball gags don't work on someone whose noises happen primarily in the top of the throat, bit gags are better for that, second of all, Keith packed the bags so tell him, and third of all, grow up, it's just a penis.”

Keith raised his hands to rub at his flaming cheeks and scowled. “I had no idea we were going to exert ourselves so much that you were going to need to feed again so soon, and there are three gags in Hunk's pack.”

“Three?” James said incredulously, at the same moment Lance tipped his head and asked, “Why did you put them in Hunk's pack?”

“Because I know he's your preferred source of energy and it embarrasses him if people overhear him. His pack has the extra lube, too.” Keith didn't look up from diligently minimizing their trash.

“Why three?” James repeated.

The look the purple-eyed Extrahuman shot him could have peeled paint. “Because Hunk's not the only one willing to feed Lance and not everyone is okay with sharing gags.”

The gryphon hissed and rolled his shoulders up. “How could I forget, you have a hard time keeping your clothes on around the walking petri dish.”

“I'm not the only other--”

Hunk all but slammed a plate down in front of James. “I will _pluck_ you, fledgling,” he informed the corvid sharply, “shut the hell up and eat.” He passed Keith his plate with a little smile.

“And anyway James,” Shiro said casually, accepting a plate from Katie with a quick grin, “didn't I hear somewhere that you didn't exactly keep everything zipped up around Lance, yourself? Why are you so angry about his sexual activities? It it jealousy?” He didn't even flinch when the gryphon started to lunge over his plate at him, and Keith yanked him back down by his towel, which threatened to come off.

Lance smacked Shiro in the back of the head with the flat of his tail as James hastily sat and started screeching at Keith about his methods of restraint. “You're not his classmate. Don't fuck with him like you are.”

He rubbed the spot with one hand as he made a face. “Right, sorry. I just...really don't like the way he talks about you.”

“It's not about me, so don't pay him any mind. He's angry, is all, and he's got his reasons. He lashes out at us because we're easy targets for him, and we put up with it because we're his friends and we get it. Well, I do and Keith does, anyway. Hunk spends a lot of time threatening his life.” Lance folded himself down on the blanket Hunk had laid out, beaming over at the big man when he sat beside him. “I shrank again,” he announced cheerily.

“You're less blue, too,” Hunk gave him a fond smile and settled their shoulders together, “I think they'd let you come back to school now.”

“Man, I'm gonna have so many make up tests before I can rejoin you in class,” Lance groaned, thumping his forehead against Hunk's shoulder.

“And you're gonna have a heck of a time looking the Professor in the eye,” Hunk teased, brushing Lance's hair back from his face, “is it going to be a problem? You know he's the best flight instructor the Garrison's got.”

“It'll be fine,” the Cuban waved a hand, “the great thing about being a demon is that sex is a really casual thing, and the great thing about Professor Whitehorse is that he understands that.” He scooped a spoonful of some kind of mush from his plate into his mouth and made a contented noise. “I don't know how you do this, man, but this slop is actually edible.”

“I carry a whole spice rack in my pockets wherever I go,” his friend laughed, leaning over to wipe a bit from the corner of his mouth, “you never know when you gotta liven up an MRE for a friend who has to live in a shelled-out manor in the middle of nowhere. Hey, Allura, how are your bugs?” He gave her a smile as she sauntered over to sit down next to Shiro. “That's a politeness question, feel free not to go into detail.”

“I wasn't going to, Hunk, I know how you are about certain textures. They are very satisfying and tasty, which cannot be said about an unfortunate number of the safe foods I eat. Keith is quite skilled at preparing and selecting good bugs.” She gave the arguing young man a smile, which was acknowledged with a brief smile and a wave of one hand as he carried on fighting with James. “How is your...what is that, again?”

“I have the chicken-fried steak.”

“I...still have qualms about meat as an adjective.”

“Doesn't Insada's serve chicken-fried steak?”

“Insada's, certainly. _I_ do not.” She squinted at his plate, made a face, and shook her head. “I have only had a couple of customers try to order that abomination, and I ignore them until they make a more rational decision.”

“How have you not been fired?” Lance asked curiously, folding his legs and letting his knee rest on Shiro's thigh.

“I am very charming when I want to be.” Allura's eyes flicked down to the point of casual contact, then back up to Shiro, who stared at her with a look that verged on fear. She popped a candied scorpion in her mouth and gave Lance a smile as she crunched into it.

“Manager's in love with you?”

“Oh, probably. I really did stop minding that ages ago.”

Lance nodded in understanding while Hunk and Shiro stared at the both of them as though seeing them for the first time. “It gets to be background noise after a while,” he agreed, then laughed at the look his best friend was giving him, “sorry, but it does! Like, unless someone throws themselves at me so hard I feel like Chicken Little, I just don't notice until I'm hungry.”

“And what's your excuse, Allura?” Shiro asked in good humor.

“I'm a fairy princess, obviously.” She flipped a hand as if to ask how he hadn't figured that out on his own, then leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He turned his head to kiss the tip of her nose and laughed as she swatted him. “How could I have forgotten? Just half a step shy of a goddess in your own right.”

“Don't be a bitch, Shiro, no little god can pull the kind of spellwork that I can,” but the smile never left her face or voice. She leaned back in to brush a kiss against his lips, then wrinkled her nose and sat back. “Whatever Hunk gave you, it's definitely an animal product.”

“Sorry,” he tipped his face away with a little frown, “but you have to be fair—the little gods gave up their power to keep from ripping reality apart, so before that they might have kept up with you.”

She laughed, shaking her hair out of her face so vigorously that Shiro thought for a moment her towel might slip with the motion. It took an effort of will not to let his eyes drop below her collarbone. “If they tried _very_ hard!” She reached out and lazily prodded Lance in the knee resting on Shiro. “I thought you were going to go easy on him. I can practically feel his sore spots, myself.”

Lance leaned forward a little over his plate, his eyes flashing a little of the glow Shiro was starting to get used to as they dragged down over Allura's towel and then snapped back up to her face. The tip of his tongue poked out from between his teeth, and he raised an eyebrow. “Can you _really,_ or would you just like to?”

Her eyes went wide—Shiro even saw the blue set on her cheekbones crack open a little—and she turned a very attractive shade of dusky rose. “ _Lance!_ ”

He laughed as Hunk pulled him back, waving his hands. “Sorry, sorry. It was right there. And I was going to go easy on him, originally, but then he asked me not to. I do try to be accommodating.”

Keith cleared his throat when the princess screwed up her face in anticipation of an argument. “Doesn't really matter now, right? Can't travel back in time to remind Lance that Shiro has to be fit enough to help dismantle five enormous sirens tomorrow.”

“Time travel magic is forbidden for a reason,” Allura agreed, giving up the argument with a little huff through her nose and letting the joke go right over her head, “it would hardly do us any good to put a stop to it if we lost a person to the vagaries of temporal correction.”

James leaned forward, hip settled against Keith's as he passed the Extrahuman his creamed corn without paying attention. “The what of the what now?”

“The—oh, sorry. Time really only wants people to travel through it the linear way, so it...self-corrects, when someone uses magic to circumvent those rules. More often than not, as has been reported, the traveler is ah. Well. Forfeit.”

“I can dismember a trencher with a sore ass,” Shiro rolled his eyes, nibbling on what he presumed was the vegetable on his plate, “time travel to prevent it would be overly dramatic and, frankly, unwelcome.” He stopped suddenly, blinking. He'd zoned out so completely that it took Allura pinching him in the calf to snap him back. “Ow!”

“You frightened us,” she told him tartly, “we thought you were going to seize.”

“Oh. Sorry, I just realized my mouths aren't real.”

They all stared at him in confusion. James' eyes dropped to the band on his wrist. “The light's green, but he might be having a synesthetic seizure. Other sensory input coming out of his mouth and causing a 'word salad' effect?” He straightened up a little when Lance gave him a thoughtful look and a small smile.

“No, no, sorry.” Shiro waved a hand. “Sendak said we shouldn't use our...other forms, to take the trenchers apart because of the risk of ingesting too much undiluted siren blood. But my mouths aren't real. The Cerberus is a manifestation, it wouldn't be affected by that.”

“Doesn't help the rest of us.”

“No, but I think I can manifest him big enough to take the smaller two apart, at least. Blue and Green, right, Katie?”

She shook her head, curled safely with her food in the long folds of Haxus' lap. “Red is smaller than Blue. But it would help.”

“Why don't you just shrink them and send them to the ocean back through the tunnel HOPE brought them here through?” Hunk asked, stirring something on his plate. He looked up when he realized they were all staring at him. “What?”

“None of us have that kind of magic, dumbass,” James sneered, but froze when Lance's tail whipped around and settled the edge of the spade under his jaw.

“You don't talk to him like that,” the demon said simply, both eyebrows politely raised. He relaxed when Hunk gripped his tail, winding the appendage around the man's fingers obediently.

“It's a good suggestion,” Haxus noted, settling his sharp chin on the thick cushion of Katie's hair, “and it isn't as though you know of Sendak's or my magical toolkits, Guardian, to speak with such authority.” He gave Hunk a polite tip of his head. “He is however, to my knowledge, unfortunately correct.”

“What about your—uh.” Lance hesitated, looking at Katie's boots, where two seed packets poked out above the high tops.

“I need good light for that,” she sighed, offering a bite of something pinkish above her head to Haxus, who steadied her hand with his and obediently accepted the offering, “the lights in the Night Market are full-spectrum solar bulbs. Might as well be sunlight. Those,” she gestured above them to the wall lights once her fork was empty, “are blue range with an ultraviolet filter. Kills standard bacteria and potently anti-viral, not so great for most plants.”

“You made the moss start filtering out the toxins from the trenchers,” the demon said in confusion, releasing Hunk's hand so the big man could eat, “you can't make them grow in blue light?”

Shiro heard her teeth grind and shot Haxus an alarmed look. The chimera smoothed his palms over her shoulders, and she let out a breath. “No, Lance, I can't. Even my powers have limits.”

Allura switched bags of insects, frowning thoughtfully. “What if I can provide you with light that's indistinguishable from sunlight, at least for an hour or so?”

The small group erupted into chaos.

“You are still recovering--” Shiro.

“You need to stop using magic until--” Keith.

“Firstborn if you injure yourself further I will have no choice--” Sendak.

“--stop being suicidal for three seconds--” Lance.

James' voice cut through the din, sharp and rough as a passing caw. “Can you do that?”

“Of course she can,” Adam thumped down on the other side of Allura and gently tugged Curtis into his lap, accepting two plates from Keith when he passed them over, “she's a Sacred. Shiro wasn't far wrong when he compared her to a god.”

“It's an entirely different base of magic,” the princess objected with a pout, “we don't reweave reality to shape it to our will. We use the...” she gestured vaguely, at a loss for the proper description. “Okay, so imagine reality at any given moment is still being woven. A constant state of motion in the threads. We use the power of the motion.”

“Sort of a...metaphysical kinetic energy?” Hunk suggested, fascinated.

She brightened. “Yes, just like that! Except it's reality's metaphysics involved, not simply one person or small group. It's already a part of established reality, since it's transferred through the...fabric, the threads, but it's not a solid state of things, so changing or creating something from it doesn't have the same impact. It doesn't last, but we only need light for the plants, right? So impermanence isn't a problem.”

Lance's chin jutted out when he clenched his jaw, Shiro noted idly, and it made him look a little like he was pouting. “You're still recovering from nearly dying by way of magical power drain. There's no way doing that would be safe for you.” He jerked his head upright when she opened her mouth to object. “Don't. Light is _heavy_.”

“I can handle it,” she insisted, “and anyway what are the other options, waiting for Shiro to handle the other four while the whole rest of us desperately hack away at the big one with tools originally meant to be chopping down scrub brush and cacti?”

“You both have valid points,” Sendak cut in quietly, “but why don't we just send the gryphon topside to get full-spectrum solar bulbs and replace the wall lights? It will take less time than relying entirely on Takashi, it will not endanger the Firstborn during her recovery, and it will provide the spectrum of light that Katharine needs to grow the plants to do the hard work.” He looked politely down at Keith. “Also, it will remove the gryphon from the dark.”

“I have a name, Commander,” James groused, taking Keith's chocolate pudding for himself.

“I am aware of that, yes. But given your attitude thus far, your options are 'the gryphon' or 'that pissy little fuck.' Which would you prefer?”

Keith drew himself upright. “You watch how you talk to him, you self-important--”

“ _Enough_.” Curtis' voice felt like it had temporarily cut off the air in the cave and left Shiro dragging in a hard breath. From the slightly wild widening of Keith's eyes, it had felt that way to him, too. “We are all tired, and sore, and hungry. We don't all want to share space with everyone else here. If you can't stay civil, find an alcove to spend the night and leave in the morning.” He gave James a nod. “Which you should do anyway. Do you think you can make it all the way back up to the surface alone?”

Keith made a grinding noise in the back of his throat. “He couldn't find his way out of a paper bag with a map and a flashlight. I'll escort him to the surface in the morning so he doesn't get lost and we find bird bones down a wrong turn somewhere.” He shoveled creamed corn into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in weeks.

James scowled into the pudding cup in his hand as he scraped at it with his spoon. “I know how to read a map. I am the top pilot in my class, asshole.”

“Only because I got expelled.”

“You didn't 'get expelled,' you _ran away_.”

Curtis rubbed at his temple, leaning heavily against his husband. “I swear I am going to sit on one of you if you don't stop.”

Both younger men muttered a simultaneous, “sorry, Curtis,” and went back to eating their food.

Allura cleared her throat delicately. “As to the matter of sleeping arrangements, I was wondering about separation?”

“There are kind of uh, break rooms? Off the sides of the main tunnel back that way. One of them has already been found, I understand,” Katie gave Lance a smirk, and the demon flourished his hand in a makeshift bow, “but there are others, too. I figure if we pair off we can all sleep comfortably enough.”

“Why are there break rooms down here?” Lance wondered, shoveling some kind of shredded meat onto a cracker. “I mean, it takes a couple of hours to walk down, I guess, but is aquifer maintenance really that extensive?”

“It is if you're installing foreign lifeforms up to three times the size of grey whales,” Hunk noted, frowning down at his plate, “and even if that's not when they were put here, underground tunnel systems like this helped a lot of people survive the war. It's probable that a lot of Dryreef's local population sheltered down here during the bombings and initial RAD storms.”

“At least until the spring floods brought all that radioactive dust down into the water supply,” James agreed sourly, “then down here was just as dangerous as up there.”

“By then the bombings had stopped, though.” Katie leaned back against Haxus' chest, staring into the small fire thoughtfully. “And HOPE got here to 'purify' the aquifer after they'd done all the major and secondary human-only cities, so that was what, twenty-one forty ish?”

“Eighty-three years,” Sendak's rumble brought them all a moment of stillness. He stared out over the drop at the massive forms lying too still in the shallow water. “Why aren't they more decayed?”

“I'd have to run a full battery of tests,” Katie said tiredly as Haxus stroked his claws through her hair, “including a full bacterial analysis and a muscular density test, and I don't exactly have my lab down here, so--”

“It was just a question, Lady Green,” the Commander gave her a soft look.

“Sorry,” she muttered, curling in her shoulders, “it's just...a reminder. She was down here suffering for that long, with the bodies of her siblings all around her, having listened to them die--”

“Grief or anger, Pigeon,” Keith murmured.

“I'm too tired for either,” she sighed, setting her plate down and scooting it towards the fire with her foot.

Shiro gave her a small smile. “Why don't you go to bed, Katie. We'll clean up, since you and Hunk cooked.”

“Hunk cooked,” she corrected quietly, turning in Haxus' grasp as he carefully worked his arms under her to stand, “I stirred and served.”

“That's more than I can manage.” He watched them disappear into the dark and leaned over to look at Sendak. “He'd better appreciate her.”

“My partner is a lot of things,” the chimera dragged his tongue over his plate, “ignorant of his blessings is not one of them.”

“The wash basin's empty,” Keith offered, getting up with his and James' plates, “I'll start putting dishes in it. Who wants to dry?”

“I will,” Shiro started to push himself to his feet, only to pause part way up as the day's exertions made themselves heard in his muscles.

“Rest,” Adam said firmly, gently shooing Curtis out of his lap, “I'll dry the dishes.”

“Like you're not tired, too,” Lance objected, starting to unfold his legs.

“I am more used to it. Stay.” The Dire waved him off and gathered his and Curtis' plates, following Keith into the dark.

“Seriously, nobody has any kind of magic than can dry our clothes?” Hunk asked uncomfortably, squinting up at the rope strung between two well-embedded pitons. Their clothes dripped off to the side, sanitized by the magic laid on the collapsible tub Keith had thought to pack.

“I could shift and flap my wings very hard,” James offered idly, “but given what we're dealing with down here, stirring up the air might not be a great idea.”

“Also shifting burns up a lot of calories and you're already eating spare rations.” The big man noted pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I wasn't invited.” He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs, and Shiro thought for a moment he saw the oilslick gleam of feathers down his arms in the light. “You don't have to waste your breath reminding me that you don't like me, Garrett.”

“You talk about my best friend like he's patient zero for the next major plague, of course I don't like you.” Hunk scowled at him, then shook his head. “But at least you never actively plotted to kill him and haven't been lying to him about the kind of person you are, so the bonus for you is, you're not the person here I dislike the most.”

James lifted his head, tipping it to one side and looking Shiro over with a bright, curious glint in his visible eye. “He won't do it now, so what's the issue? Lance is safe. Big dog over here's already his bitch.”

“You know how I feel about liars, Nick,” Lance told him softly.

His gaze dropped to the knee once more comfortably on Shiro's lap. “Can't be as strong as you claim, since you're letting him fuck his way to forgiveness.”

Shiro stared at the fire glinting between his fingers. “Did you not get hugged enough as a kid, or something?” He felt Lance shift next to him, but when the demon said nothing he raised his eyes to James, who stared at him with something very near to hate on his face. “What is your problem? I haven't hurt anyone since I arrived, so it can't be a Guardian thing. You already told me you don't care if I kill Lance anyway, so it's not that you're worried about him. You don't even like Hunk, whose reasons for hating me are extremely valid--”

“Thank you,” the other human sounded just a little smug.

“You don't seem to like Keith all that much so it can't be that I'll be pressing charges for his assault—”

The air filled with a hard, sharp hiss. “Like I would ever object to seeing him face consequences for his dumbass bouts of violence.” James' attention snapped to Lance when the demon muttered something under his breath. “It won't go anywhere anyway. Holts don't face consequences. Even if they're only Holts on paper.”

Shiro stared at him for a long moment, mind whirling with the memory of Matt barely missing his head with the solid amber-glass lamp from their entry table and the feeling of blood sliding down the side of his face. The way the blond had just disappeared and there had been no sign of a disciplinary hearing, only to find him six years later heading his own post in the largest Sanctuary city in North America. The smile Matt had given him like nothing had ever happened, and he'd just rolled over and gone along with it. “...It's a part of what they are, isn't it.”

Having watched the realization break over his face, James gave him a bitter smile. “Easier to punish the ground beneath your feet than hold a Holt accountable.”

“But Keith isn't--”

“Doesn't matter. They'll close ranks around him. They always do. Scares the hell out of everyone.” The gryphon finally looked away, off in the direction of Keith and Adam's quiet chatter filling the dark. “Anyway that's not why I hate you, either.”

“So what is it?”

“Go fuck yourself, that's what.” James got to his feet, carefully gripping the tuck of his towel. “I'm going to bed.” He turned to go.

“G'night, Nicky,” Lance's voice was soft and fond, and it made the other man's back tense.

“Yeah. Night, Lance.” He shuffled off in a hurry.

“He is the same guy that nearly broke your nose with his hips, isn't he?” Shiro asked, reaching up to smooth Lance's hair around the bases of his horns.

“Yeah, but he's like Hunk. Straight, but a mouth is a mouth is a mouth, right?” Lance gave him a faint smile and shrugged. “I'm not mad about it. I threw his shoes out in revenge.” He turned his smile on Hunk, and it immediately deepened and warmed considerably. “That was when we met.”

“Yeah,” the big man agreed with a similar look on his face, “that was a good day, except for you getting your face hurt.”

“I felt a lot better later.” The demon hummed, leaning forward to gently bump their heads together. “Come on, let's get some sleep. You did a lot of wall-climbing today and I know how heights freak you out. G'night, Shiro.”

“Night, you two.” He watched them head off up the tunnel, arms twined together like a pair of newlyweds on a moonlight stroll.

“I'll keep watch,” Sendak offered, waving Shiro and Allura away with a massive hand, “constructs don't need sleep.”

The Cerberus blinked at him for a moment, then nodded and carefully attempted to stand again. He grimaced with the discomfort and stifled a pained sound, but offered his hand to Allura. “I suppose that's as clear as an order to go to sleep, Princess. If you don't mind my company?”

She gave him a cheeky grin, settling her fingers across his palm and bouncing to her feet without putting any pressure in the grip at all. “I am not now, nor have I ever been, the kind of girl who turns down the offer of such pretty company, Shiro. Good night, Sendak, Curtis.”

“Good night, Firstborn,” the chimera rumbled.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” Curtis gave them both a smile. “You too, Allura.”

“Yeah, right back at you.” He gave the blue-eyed man a quick grin, shoving down the flutter in his stomach and quickly turning his eyes back to Allura. “Let's go, before I somehow manage to become more of a disaster,” he muttered, heading down the tunnel with her to the sound of her bright laughter.


	23. Family History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fae Emperor borrows Shiro and Allura for a discussion. A boon is offered; a deal is struck.

He remembered the morning; the quiet breakfast before seeing Keith and James off on their journey towards the surface, the horribly quiet way Katie had volunteered her strength to try to rip the trenchers apart at the joints, Allura's gentle insistence that she instead review the memories Green had left in her mind to see if she could find any kind of ceremony or at least respectful words to say over the fallen sirens. He remembered Allura following him to the smaller trenchers as he readied himself to call out his wolf, her hand on his back keeping him from losing himself in the feeling of water rushing over his paws and the heavy, salty-sick muscle in his teeth. The heat of her palm on his back had been comforting, even as he'd accidentally drenched them in gore with an ill-advised head toss.

He remembered the smell, the feeling, cold and oil-thick on his skin, the way it made parts of Allura's glamour jitter like a badly-recorded security camera he'd seen in ancient movies.

What he didn't remember was getting naked, or finding a way to heat an appreciable amount of water to soak in. He definitely didn't remember finding some kind of oil to scent a bath with—something sort of floral but spicy enough to leave a tingle on his skin at the waterline. He opened his eyes slowly, preparing to fling himself from the water and into combat if necessary.

The tub he lay in was copper, ringed at the bottom with lumpy terrycloth, and there was a second tub beside his where Allura lay soaking with no sign of her glamour at all. The oil in the bath clung to the lines of her leathery armor plates, gleaming over every line of her body. He followed the light down with his eyes until the tub got in the way, but lingered on the long fingers ticking jagged claws against the metal side. It took him a moment to register what the movement meant, and he snapped his eyes back up to her face with a muttered apology.

She gave him a smile, the eyes on her cheekbones wide open and glinting in the soft candlelight. The heavy, leathery flap of her 'hair' shone as she sat up a little straighter, and he felt his forehead wrinkle in puzzlement. “Something's different.”

“No scales.” She held up her arms, letting him see the smooth lengths of her thick skin. “No spines.”

He sat up a little straighter, gripping the tub as the motion gave him a headrush. He did take a moment to feel smug about the way her eyes dropped to his chest. “A cure?”

“A treatment,” the voice that answered him came from across the room to vibrate in his bones, and he was out of the tub and between the speaker and Allura before he could form the thought. The speaker hummed, lifting the hood from a lamp and letting him get a look at just what he was offering to fight.

He was huge; easily over nine feet seated in his chair with one foot flat on the floor, with broad, muscular shoulders and hands big enough to have covered Shiro's head and had his fingertips touch. His head was covered in thick, heavy armor plates instead of hair, and his eyes gleamed a faint yellow even with the lamp providing light between them. The suit he wore was expertly tailored and the faint shift of his shoulders revealed the fabric to be stiff enough to double as body armor. His jaw was also armor-plated, and the upper portion of his mouth was a hard, fanged plate rather than a lip. Shiro's brain skittered past the curiosity of whether or not the feature inhibited kissing. On the massive desk, next to the lamp, sat an ornate helm with an inlaid silver crown.

Shiro dropped his eyes, thumped his fist to his chest, and sank to one knee. “Emperor.”

The sigh he received sounded more tried than forgiving. “Get back in the soak, Cerberus.”

“I don't mind, Papa,” Allura murmured, and Shiro could feel her eyes dragging over his nude back.

“You are a little stoned right now, Wild Thing, you would barely mind if someone lit you on fire,” the fae emperor said gently, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and resting his fingertips together. He flicked his gaze back to Shiro, who ducked his head and slunk as gracefully back into his soak as he could.

“She's stoned?”

“A side effect of this purifying treatment on her kind,” the emperor tipped his head, “and a brief respite from her temper for me. She would hardly enjoy tearing into me with weapons not of her own making.”

“The toxin,” Shiro concluded carefully.

Another small noise. “The toxin,” he agreed. He let quiet settle again, watching the both of them, then nodded. “My Commander has told me of the sacrifice you made for my Firstborn, Cerberus,” he noted, “your actions have earned you a boon.” He flicked his fingers when Shiro looked down at the soak. “The treatment is a necessity here. Siren magics can be...unpredictable on this side of the hedge.”

“As fascinating as watching you destabilize would have been,” the new voice came from behind him, and it was all Shiro could do to keep from launching himself out of the tub again, “Zarkon was concerned it would upset the little hellion.” The new fae stepped between the tubs, a wooden tray in each hand, and settled his burden on top of the water in each bath. His face was flat and broad, thin-lipped and framed by marked gill lines on either side of his jaw. Behind him swished a muscular tail with multiple top fin points. A short crest of thick skin disappeared down the collar of his loose white top. He looked like a shark version of a twentieth century pirate romance novel. “Eat.”

Shiro looked down at the tray, then over at Allura and gestured vaguely. She gave him a vacant smile. “It's all right, Shiro. The office is warded to prevent tethering to this side of the hedge. It's not a trap.”

“We don't want to keep you here,” the sharklike fae bared an impressive number of teeth, “stars know we'd never hear the end of it from--”

“Antok,” Zarkon didn't raise or even firm his voice, but it commanded silence none the less, “enough. Cerberus, this is my other half, Antok. He is also my personal guard.”

“And biggest security risk,” Antok gave the emperor a grin.

Shiro turned his attention back to Zarkon, lost.

“He is married to the leader of a rebel faction,” the enormous fae admitted, giving his friend a soft smile, “Kolivan is everything Antok ever wanted, and I could not be happier for the joy he has found.”

“That's both really sweet and kind of concerning,” the hunter admitted.

“Yeah, he does that.” Antok crossed the room the rest of the way and moved Zarkon's arm to sit on the arm of the chair. The emperor looped his arm around the shark-fae's waist instead. “You're not eating. I crossed the hedge to hunt that for you.”

“Ah. Thank you.” With another glance towards Allura for reassurance—which was not entirely reassuring, given that it came in the form of a drugged smile—Shiro lifted the lid from the top of the dish sitting on the tray. He was greeted with some kind of meat on rice, and squinted at it curiously. The lantern light shifted colors as he did so, and he glanced up in confusion.

Antok shrugged, gesturing to the small flame. “He gets tired of being one color all the time.”

“The...lamp?”

“The imp lighting it. Eat your venison.”

He felt himself perk at the word. “Oh. Thank you. I thought it might be steak.”

“We do know that you require leaner meats,” Zarkon rumbled, “we are not insensitive to your needs.”

“Z even found a clock,” Antok said cheerfully, then snapped his fingers and bent to rummage through a desk drawer, then held up the device triumphantly. Despite not being plugged in, the face glowed a bright green, though the numbers didn't look like anything Shiro had ever seen.

“I appreciate the gesture, but that's no kind of clock I'm familiar with,” the Cerberus reluctantly admitted. He turned his attention to his food when the two large fae examined the object in confusion. “Did you bring us here to offer me your boon, emperor?”

“To let you know you have it,” Zarkon specified, “and to purify the both of you. I have...crimes to pay for, when Wild Thing is cleansed.”

“May I ask about the name, sir?”

“Hlura,” Zarkon said carefully, “it is a nickname, but there is a spell on this room that translates everything if it is not carefully emphasized. She was a very unruly child.” The smile he aimed at Allura was fond, and Shiro felt himself relax a little. It was hard to find even the massive fae emperor intimidating, he decided, when he was smiling at Allura like he would pull down every star she asked for.

“How long have we been soaking?” Shiro asked, tipping his head. “It doesn't feel like we've been out that long, but Allura's scales and spines seem to be gone already, so--” he snapped his teeth closed when he saw that both Antok and Zarkon were watching him with bemusement. “I don't know how I forgot that time doesn't exist here. And I shouldn't ask questions. My apologies.”

“Time needs an anchor, Cerberus, and our realm is in between the weave. You may exit the soak if you wish, but the clothes you wore when you arrived did not survive the journey here. And your questions are not unwelcome.”

“There are fae making some clothing in your size, but expert as they are, you are real, and that makes it harder on them.” Antok shrugged, draping himself comfortably over the emperor's shoulder. “And I might bitch about you putting junk prints on the furniture.”

“I could remain standing,” Shiro offered, but sank into the water a little more readily under the Emperor's impassive stare, “or. Or I could stay in the tub.”

Antok leaned a little closer to Zarkon's head. “You need to work on your bedroom eyes.”

“They work just fine,” the huge fae rumbled as Shiro's vocal cords made a sound a little too similar to a scratched vinyl record, “don't make him uncomfortable.”

“They worked fairly well on my family, didn't they,” Allura said quietly, and Shiro saw Zarkon straighten up and roll his shoulders back.

“There she is,” the emperor murmured, “took longer than anticipated for her to adjust.”

“She was fairly worn,” his partner noted, moving to lean against the chair instead of his emperor.

“You know I hate that, Uncle Antok.”

“Sorry, Wild Thing.”

She surged upward so quickly that Shiro actually saw the spell keeping the water from sloshing onto the floor hold back the splash like an invisible wall. He shook his head a little, the effect disorienting, and turned his attention to Allura herself.

It may have been a mistake. The water slid over the soft leathery plates in eye-catching patterns, gleaming in the light of the lamp—which shifted to a soft pink almost immediately and made her look even more ethereal. At the edges of each soft-armor plate he saw gaps, puffing out quiet sprays of water one after the other, and he counted seventeen before he realized those vulnerable spots were how she breathed. He felt his eyes want to drop and forced them upwards instead, following the lines of her chest—curves beneath the armor there, but nippleless and out of place given how insectoid she appeared without her glamour—and up the side of a long neck covered in smaller, harder scales clearly sharp enough to cut. Her jaw was long and dropped low, a shift in the way she held her head showing the thin lines of mandibles curled close along the edge.

He knew when the word 'beautiful' passed his lips that it was too soft for her to hear. He stared at the familiarly monstrous face, translucent and with too many teeth, and the blue eyes wide in her cheeks below the searing pink restrained to her pupils when she wore her glamour. It took him until he followed the curve of her head in admiration of the long, shimmering leathery head-cape she wore instead of hair to realize that she was yelling. He shook himself to pay attention.

“--your plan all along? Break my father's hearts, string him along despite marrying his cousin, so he would be soft and hurt and weak when you struck? Raise me as your own so what, you could have someone to put on the throne after you murdered everyone in our lands? And you!” Her rage shifted to Antok, and Shiro saw the sharklike fae recoil while Zarkon put a hand on his hip. “You should have known! You should have stopped him! Rounding on the rest of the courts to snap them all down--”

“We didn't start the war.” Despite the fury of Allura's attack, Antok's voice was gentle, and Shiro realized that Zarkon's hand on his partner was a restraint, not a shield. “What was happening in our lands was our business—what we thought was a piece of Real where there was no thread, and growing, so we studied it, tried to understand it. You remember the labs, Hlura, your auntie used to teach you in them when you visited.”

Trembling from the effort of not continuing her tirade, Allura offered a single nod. “She always forgot I wasn't old enough to learn that kind of magic.”

“Your father decided it was up to him to decide when the research should stop. He thought the Real might be influencing Zarkon, and your auntie, and that as an 'outside observer' he had a neutral perspective. Tell me, Hlura, was your father ever neutral when it came to deciding what Zarkon should do?” Shiro pulled back a little at the sneer in Antok's voice, and reached out of his tub to grab Allura's hand when her shoulders curled.

“Antok,” Zarkon said softly.

The gills beneath his jaw flared when he huffed. “Sorry. I'm sorry, little fish, you don't deserve that.” He shook his head. “When Zarkon told him that what went on in our lands was our business, and to get out, your father called on the Council of Kings for their guidance. While they gathered--” Antok shot Zarkon a curious look, and took a breath when the emperor nodded, “your aunt fell ill. Zarkon begged them to help him cure her. The cure—turned out to be fatal for both of them, and in retaliation and fear, the Council--” his teeth clattered together when he hesitated, and Shiro wondered at how much emotion the sound conveyed, “they destroyed our lands to seal away the...the whatever-it-was. They didn't give our people enough time to evacuate. Two-thirds of them were caught in the attack.”

She squeezed Shiro's hand, and he could see something moving under the leathery plates of her skin. “I remember the funeral.”

“In your father's castle, in your people's ways,” Antok reminded her, his voice gentle again, “not ours.”

“Disrespectful,” she whispered, “I remember arguing with Father about it. Auntie Honey had chosen to embrace the ways of her new people, as their empress. They should have had a feast, their bones should have been given to their loved ones for family shrines. He wouldn't even let me take one.” Something bright blue-white and blinding slid down her cheek, and Shiro squinted before turning her face away from the intensity of her tears. “But—but they got up. The power behind their people raised them both, I remember the scandal. Proof that Auntie really was one of you.”

Antok looked away. Shiro didn't think it had to do with the light from her tears.

“And when we woke, we were told our home was burning,” Zarkon rumbled, “our people scattered or dead, and that the ruins of our lands would burn forever. We had no home, and it was taken from us by those who called themselves our friends—our family.”

She sank to the floor, still clinging to Shiro's hand. “So you bared your blades and went to war,” she whispered, “and you killed them all.”

“Not all, Hlura,” the emperor said gently, “we called the Hunt, and when it passed, we stopped killing them.”

“So there are...survivors? My people out there somewhere alive?”

He inclined his head. “It was never my intention to be a monster, Hlura. Your father hid you away from me, blocked every communication we tried. He took my home, my wife's home, my partner's home, and then he took my daughter. When I arrived in his castle, you were gone. He told me I would never find you, though I searched. I never stopped searching.”

“So you killed him,” she said simply, face turned down to the floor.

He looked down at her for a long, silent moment, and Shiro could have sworn he saw the emperor's heart break. “No, my Hlura, I did not. The only one I struck down myself was Trigel.” His gaze lifted; the lamp light brightened, and Shiro saw clearly the spear settled in an alcove among velvet-lined boxes of bones and broken pieces of armor. “But as is...an unfortunate stereotype for your people, my wife's wrath was not slaked by simply defeating them and taking their crowns.” He shifted in his seat again, eyes settling back on the slumped princess. “I wanted to keep him alive and interrogate him for information on your whereabouts.”

“You mean torture,” she corrected slowly.

He inclined his head. “Not in the way that you think.” He ignored Antok when his partner made a rude noise and muttered something under his breath. “I still loved him, Hlura. For all that he had done and taken from me, for all his crimes, I loved him beyond reason.”

“You always did have a soft spot for the callous bastards,” there was an edge of fondness in her tone, and Shiro felt himself start to relax. He hadn't even realized he'd begun to tense.

“As Trigel herself discovered,” the emperor agreed. “If you still wish to quench your rage on my person, I will accept any honor challenge you demand. It is your right, as Alfor's heir and my Firstborn.”

When she raised her face to him, Shiro again couldn't bear the brilliance of her tears, and closed his eyes tightly. “How do you know you can trust me not to kill you?”

His soft laugh was unexpected, but warmed Shiro's bones considerably. He made a mental note to ask around the Night Market for something that would help him control his libido. “I never trust a Galra.” He emphasized the last word in a way that made it clear to Shiro that he was preventing it from translating.

“A parent of mine once informed me that that is a wise decision,” her voice was soft, and she gently disentangled her fingers from Shiro's a moment before she launched herself across the room.

The Cerberus jerked his head up in time to see Antok slip from the arm of the chair with a comical flail, and Zarkon wrapped his arms around Allura while she beat at his chest with her fists. Each thumping sound was enough to make Shiro's teeth hurt, and he wondered at the gentle way the huge fae settled his scarred face atop her head.

“He put me in a tethered pocket,” she was sobbing into Zarkon's shirt as she beat on him, “I could feel time passing, and I only had Coran for company for ten thousand years! I deserved to be the one to kill him! I earned that, he imprisoned me, he tortured me! The shield fed on my life energy! I was already weak when I managed to escape! _I earned the right to kill him myself!_ ” She went limp in Zarkon's arms with a last wail, allowing him to gather her up completely and rock her against his chest.

Shiro almost didn't hear the quiet scratch at the door, but he tracked Antok as the emperor's partner crossed the room and accepted an armful of fabric from whatever was on the other side. The light from the hall was yellowish-white, and it was the first chance Shiro got to see that the sharklike fae's skin was a rough purplish blue. He snapped his eyes over to Zarkon, whose armor plates were a dull lavender-grey, and the short fur between them a rich nightshade, then looked over at the imp-powered lamp and scowled, resenting the lighting shifts that had prevented him from admiring the bold colors thus far.

Allura's plates were a soft swirl of pink and blue, with touches of an aqua that Shiro would never have suspected. He was struck again by how much of her powerful beauty that her glamour actually hid. He was still admiring her when Antok smacked him in the face with a tunic, which he then dropped on the floor beside the tub. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and the emperor's partner shook his head.

“Galra don't care if someone thinks their children are beautiful, hunter,” Antok informed him, shaking out a huge rectangle of terrycloth and holding it up for Shiro to step into, “as long as what the children want is respected in the meantime. I just don't want to stand here and wait for you to pull your head out of your groin.”

“That's. Fair. Yeah, all right.” He levered himself carefully from the water, feeling the magical barrier pull some of the excess from his skin as he passed through it. The terrycloth was warm and smelled like cinnamon, and he buried his face in it to enjoy the scent. “Thank you,” he mumbled to Antok as the fae wrapped him gently in several yards of soft towel.

“You've only got one arm, the least I can do is help you tuck your towel. I'm not a complete monster, hunter—just an irreverent jackass.” Shiro heard the smile in the marine fae's voice and leaned against Antok's powerful body for a moment with a sigh. He felt Antok's breath ruffle his hair as those rough-skinned arms settled around him. “Don't get any ideas,” the warning was laced with humor, “you are not nearly fluffy enough for my liking. Far more Zarkon's type than mine, though he usually prefers pale hair.”

“It's been a really long time since I bleached any part of my hair,” Shiro admitted, enjoying the embrace, “which definition of 'fluffy' do you mean?”

“Are there more definitions, now? Languages do enjoy complicating themselves.”

“It could mean very hairy or furry, or it also picked up a definition for meaning 'with a lot of body fat,'” Shiro explained, “though that second one sort of cycled in and out a couple hundred years ago and isn't in a lot of use now. I figure since you're mostly here, you might be using some older slang.”

“It's been more than a couple hundred years since I got out to breathe real air,” Antok admitted, “but I do mean furry. Kolivan has the most fur I've ever seen on a fae, and it's as soft and silky as these clothes our people just made you. I could drown in it. We've been married for—well.” He laughed a little, and Shiro smiled at the sudden reminder that time was a foreign concept to the fae. “Since just before humanity tamed fire. His marriage braid is impressive, now.”

“Wouldn't that be a problem in a fight, all that hair?”

Antok leaned back to give him a look of shock and horror. “No fae of any land would grab someone's marriage braid in combat. The bonds of marriage are _sacred_.”

“Sorry, it's. It's something humans wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of in a fight. I think it's why we started using rings.”

“And what, represent your bond of love with something that comes from outside yourself? Not grow out your hair into the representation of how your love grows as a part of you, as much as your spouse grows into a part of you? Those metal bands humans put on their fingers are little more than glorified slave collars. They have as little meaning to the heart.”

“Antok,” Zarkon's voice was gentle, “leave the man alone and let him get dressed.”

“We're having a cuddle,” his partner objected sulkily, but he released Shiro with a gentle pat on the head. “I'll play manservant and help you with the laces once you've got the basics on,” he offered, flickering a wink at Shiro, and it took the hunter a moment to realize that that twist of his mouth was a smile.

He tried desperately not to count the teeth he could see in the wide mouth, and flushed when Antok laughed and ruffled his hair. “I can't stop it,” he mumbled, “ever since I got to Dryreef I feel like I'm fourteen again. Surrounded by hot people and totally incapable of not getting distracted by my boner every three seconds.” He shook his head at Allura's wet laugh, then rubbed at the back of his neck. “I'm off-balance,” he admitted, taking the tunic from Antok and letting the fae take the towel, “nothing in Dryreef is...are all Sanctuary cities like this? Intrigue and espionage and government-level genocide?”

He felt all four pairs of eyes on him—five, really, he felt like even the lamp imp was staring at him—as what he had said sank in. “Oh, shit.” He wavered on his feet and let Antok prop him up, feeling like the room was spinning. “HOPE's trying to kill everyone in Dryreef. Turn them into seafolk in the middle of the desert and let them dry out. I was never supposed to go in. I was supposed to drop my report off with the local desk agent and pick up my next assignment, but I hate leaving things unfinished and I.”

“But you are changing,” Allura said quietly from Zarkon's embrace, peering at him intently.

“Yeah. And I'm starting to realize what I've been a part. Of. I.”

“Don't hyperventilate,” Antok hummed, helping him get the tunic over his head. The silk felt smooth and cool against his scars, and it calmed him considerably.

“They're killing a city full of people just for existing. I used to. I thought the same way when I was younger. Anything not human was a threat, needed to be. Eradicated. But a whole city, a whole. There are kids there. Half the population of Dryreef is still human. They're.” It clicked in his brain almost audibly, and he felt his whole body spasm with it. He didn't have to look to know the light on his monitor band was rapidly blinking red.

“They're going to claim that the Extrahumans tainted the population somehow,” Zarkon agreed calmly, “and that they are plotting to kill every human on the planet.”

“They're going to restart the war.” Shiro whispered, or tried to as his world flickered off like an old light.

He knew the hands moving him like he knew his own skin. “It's just a seizure,” and that voice, he tried to respond, tried to lift his hand, “he will recover, my emperor.” He felt the long fingers settle on his jagged shoulder like a vice, the pressure making his ears ring enough to drown out everything else. He still heard her voice, regardless. He always heard her when she spoke to him. “Idiot. Don't you know what happens when you play the hero?” He might have screamed as he spun away again, but he had no way to be sure.

When he woke, he was on his side in a room less cozy than the study, and his mouth tasted like blood and vomit. He shifted his hand underneath him and pushed himself upwards. The dizziness was a welcome distraction from the taste in his mouth. His foot bumped something metal and round. “Wh--”

“Juice,” Allura's voice was gentle, but firm, and he lifted his hand to accept the glass before he opened his eyes, “you're still shielded; it's safe for you to drink. How are you feeling?”

“My shoulder doesn't hurt any more.” The constant ache was gone, the sharp scratch of fabric against his scar tissue absent, and if his right side hadn't still felt light he would have thought his arm had regrown.

“The High Priestess made some adjustments,” Allura pet his hair gently as he downed the juice, “after you slipped in her grip and she grabbed it to keep you from falling. How are you other than that?”

“Dizzy,” he admitted, licking his lips and frowning, “little bit of a headache. I was expecting more muscle stiffness, given how I felt right before. Did the High Priestess take care of that, too?”

“Presumably, I wasn't monitoring her work.”

“Was Antok mad that I gave back the venison he hunted down for me?”

“He loves land hunting, says it's needlessly complicated. Don't let his bad attitude lead you astray. Anyway, he hardly put the whole deer on your plate. If you get hungry again I'm sure he'll be willing to bring you another portion.” She leaned against him comfortably for a moment, then laughed. “So no, he's not mad. Like the rest of us, he simply worried about you.”

“Do you think I could get a way to contact him after this? He's...really hot.” he shook himself and felt his face pull into a grimace. “Sorry, he's your uncle, you probably don't want to hear that.”

“I assure you, I have heard far more lurid and enthusiastic descriptions of my family members.” He relaxed into her hand in his hair again. “But he tends to be very picky with his sexual partners.”

“Right, he said I wasn't fluffy enough.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly and keeping his eyes closed. “Oh, to be just a little bit more Russian.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing, just a little racist joke at my own expense. Are we alone in here?”

“For the moment. The lights are low and in the yellow spectrum as well.”

He felt his mouth tic up in a smile. “Thinking of everything, princess?”

Her hand was gentle and comforting, stroking across his scalp. “Actually it was Zarkon's idea. Apparently Antok sometimes has trouble with certain spectrums of light, so he did some research. But I'd be happy to take credit if it prevents you from saying whatever lascivious thought is digging its way through your mind towards your mouth about my Papa.”

“I thought you were used to such comments,” he leaned against her heavily, letting the soft sweet smell wrap around him. He relaxed even further when her arms settled firmly around his shoulders.

“That doesn't mean I want them in my own head.” He felt her laugh ruffle his hair, then she pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “I've quite enough daddy issues, thank you. And eyes enough to see what Zarkon looks like.”

“Whoa, princess!” He sat up a little higher, finally opening his eyes and grinning at her.

She made a face, sticking out her tongue, and for a moment he could see that it was covered in tiny, flexing cilia. It distracted him for a fraction of a second. “I'm royalty, Shiro, I'm not any form of asexual. Or dead. I may be a good ten feet without my glamour, but I am not immune to fourteen feet of muscle and...bone plating.” She pursed her lips, then tipped her head and flicked her eyes upward. “Also most of his clan of fae have bifurcated--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I thought you were trying to get me to _stop_ from making lewd comments about Zarkon!” He gave her midsection a little push, and laughed as she dragged him back down onto the couch with her. They tangled in a tickling match, rolling off the couch and onto the floor, enjoying one another's company.

Zarkon found them like that, arms and limbs akimbo as they gasped for breath, and Shiro watched the flex and stretch of the soft tissues of Allura's breathing chambers with interest. The emperor settled a tray of food on the floor beside Shiro and settled himself with his legs crossed on the floor by Allura's head. “It is good to see you laugh, Hlura.”

She looked at him upside down, smiling. “He's funny, and he can't stop telling me I'm beautiful any time he sees me without my glamour.”

“Good. You deserve to be told you're beautiful. Especially by pretty boys.”

“He's thirty-one, Papa, I think at that point he's allowed to be called a 'handsome man,'” Allura scolded gently, reaching up to poke him in the leg.

“I am over fifteen thousand years old, Hlura. To me, they are all pretty boys.” He turned his face towards Shiro slightly, to let him join in the joke, and the hunter was struck again by the lines of the emperor's jaw, though in the brighter lighting of this new room it was easier to see that all the long years of his life had worn ruts in the softer tissues of his face. On one side, a jagged scar gleamed faintly all the way from his forehead, over the armored upper mandible and to his chin, as though someone had tried very hard to cleave his head in two.

Shiro realized he was staring again, and snapped his eyes up to Zarkon's, giving him an apologetic little smile before turning his attention to the meal the ruler had brought him.

“Ask, if you are curious, traveler,” the emperor rumbled gently.

He grimaced, gnawing on a bite of meat. “There are many stories about the fae whose lessons are very loud explanations why indulging curiosity about them is a terrible idea, Emperor.”

“You are a friend of our people,” Zarkon explained, ever patient, “there are no tricks from us for you in our realm, traveler.”

Shiro looked up at him again for a moment, then over to Allura, who nodded. As his attention returned to the bigger fae, Shiro felt the question bubble up out of him, as though all it had needed was Allura's permission. “Where did you get that scar?”

“Trigel,” the name was offered with a slightly misty-eyed smile, “when I faced her and the others in combat, I arrived without my helm. She did her best to hammer home the lesson that that was a mistake.”

“She did that with a _spear?_ ” He found himself examining the scar in more detail, politely ignoring but not entirely oblivious to the way Zarkon leaned in to give him a better look.

“It's a glaive, technically. As much for slashing as thrusting. I'm lucky she didn't prefer a guisarme; I wouldn't have a face left. She'd have hooked it right off of my skull.” He gave Shiro another small smile when the Cerberus' eyes flicked back to his, then away to his meal.

“Why didn't you wear your helm?” Shiro asked curiously, taking his time choosing his next bite so his face wouldn't give away the way Zarkon's sharp cinnamon scent made him light headed. It also made him think of Sendak, which gave him pause. “Does your court just...smell like cinnamon all the time? Even the constructs?”

It startled a laugh from the huge fae, and he waved a hand. “We do, we do. Each court has an associated scent. Hlura's is vanilla, mine is cinnamon, Trigel's was mistletoe, Gyrgan's was mint, and Blaytz's was cloves.”

Shiro felt his head jerk slightly. “It kind of sounds like you just listed everything Christmas smells like.”

“It was a holiday built around the meetings of the courts, back before. Even to this day, there are many parts of commercial 'Christmas' that retain the trappings of ancient human rituals meant to divert our attention during our revels one way or another.” His smile was far away again, and fond.

“What um. What does mistletoe even smell like? I don't think I've ever noticed.”

“Like almost nothing at all, and just a bit of sweet, damp, rot. It's a very subtle scent. That's a part of how it spreads.” He shifted the way he sat, letting Allura prop herself up on his thigh. “Trigel was a parasitic fungus. Her court used the bodies of the living as hosts until they died, and if there was enough left, the corpses were used for spawning.”

The hunter shuddered and curled in on himself, feeling as though something cold had passed through his midsection. “The Court of the Dead?”

“Rot,” Zarkon corrected firmly, “they were always filled with a remarkable amount of life, in Rot. Trigel was always smiling.”

“Of course she was always smiling when you saw her,” Allura thumped the back of her head on his leg, “she adored you.”

“And I her,” the emperor sighed, gently stroking his daughter's 'hair.' “When you go back, Hlura, you should free Coran. I am not overly fond of his company, but you have left him imprisoned in the jail your father made for and of you, and it is still draining you. You will need that strength.”

She made a face, but nodded. “It isn't that I want to leave him imprisoned,” she explained to Shiro, who was looking at her oddly, “it's that Coran acts like the mortal world should still bend a knee to the fae courts, and he will most definitely disapprove of every single one of the friendships I've made. Except maybe Katharine,” the note was thoughtful.

Shiro picked at his food, frowning. He wanted to ask about the Holts, and knew that if anyone could really answer the question of what they were, it would be the emperor of all fae kind, but he didn't want to push his luck with Zarkon's favor—and maybe, a little, he didn't want to ruin the magic of the bond between him and Katie by trying to quantify her. He thought about Matt and felt his stomach do a slow turn, setting down his fork for a moment. “I think I might need to know what the Holts are, if you wouldn't mind telling me,” he said quietly, staring at the tines on the polished wooden plate, “in case I need to know how to kill Matt.”

Allura sat up a little to look at him, frowning, then nodded. “It finally occurred to you.”

“He said he paid for Lance's candles with siren's blood. I'd still like to hear him tell me where he got it.”

“Last time you said you wanted to know where he got it. Those are two different desires.”

“I know where he got it. I want to hear him tell me.” He felt the words bubble up in him under her steady gaze, and growled a little as they came out. “ _I want to hear him lie to me._ ”

“You have already heard him lie to you, Shiro. Many times.” Her voice never changed from the simple, matter of fact tone he was struggling not to hate. It was as implacable as the way her stare compelled truth from him. “Why is he assigned to Dryreef?”

“He's a local, the Sanctuary had just gotten rid of a pretty disastrous HOPE liaison and the organization needed someone who could.” He shook his head, hearing it ring hollow as it escaped him. “He'd agree to anything to keep his family safe. Including covering up genocide.” He lifted his hand, staring at his shaking fingers and wondering if he was going to seize again. The light on his wrist stayed greenish yellow. “He let her make friends knowing they would start dropping dead around her. He knew she wouldn't stand for not knowing why. It was inevitable she'd find out. She's too smart not to. Holy crow,” he rubbed his palm over his face roughly, “he's there to use Katie as a weapon to destroy HOPE.”

Allura gave Zarkon a glance, and the emperor nodded, getting to his feet to cross to the sideboard and pour a drink, which he then gently set beside Shiro's plate. “The Holts are a different kind of life than everyone else, including the Fae,” the princess explained delicately. She paused when Shiro held up a finger and took a sip of the liquor, then shook himself and motioned that she continue. “There are subspecies of certain types of Extrahumans called the Earthbound. They often become Guardians—you have to be Earthbound to be a Guardian, it's a part of the Calling.”

“So Adam and James are both. Earthbound. HOPE knows the Earthbound have a different flow of life energy, but beyond that there's no discernible difference. According to current testing, anyway.”

“The Earthbound are chosen by Gaia.”

“Like. The Ancient God?”

“The...Titan, for lack of a better term. Gaia is the force that began the gathering of stardust which became Earth. She is far greater than a god, or even a God. She determines the building blocks of evolution, watches it run its course, and when it reaches a certain point, She resets all life on the planet. As far as we know, She's done so six or seven times already.”

“Why would She do that?” Shiro set his drink down, determined to put more food on his stomach if he was going to keep drinking fae alcohol. “Are we just some big experiment to Her?”

“Yes.” Zarkon shrugged apologetically when Shiro frowned at him. “It is a much longer story than you are asking for, with a much more in depth explanation. But yes.”

“Okay. So Gaia chooses special people, they become Earthbound. What does that mean, exactly? Besides making. Very attractive Guardians who are afraid of water.”

“That's not...that's just them, Shiro,” Allura tried to muffle her laugh, but her smile was wide and made Shiro feel better, “it's not a trait of the Earthbound. We believe the Holts are a...a side project, again for lack of a better term. Multiple generations of Earthbound, interbred. Stronger, smarter, faster, more invulnerable with each birth.”

He lifted his head. “Not each generation?” He clarified.

“Each birth,” she repeated firmly.

“So what, the Holts are like, Super Earthbound?”

She grimaced, not liking the phrasing any more than he did. “At this point...” she looked up at Zarkon, who tipped his head, “we think She may be making a new kind of God. An Earthbound God.” She looked up at Zarkon again, then to Shiro, and her eyes slid to his drink, which he wordlessly offered her. She downed what was left, then offered the glass back to Zarkon to refill. “Has made, actually.”

He stared at her, head shaking before his mind could process what she was implying. “No.” He said quietly, getting to his feet and backing away when Zarkon tried to offer him the refill. “No, no. She can't be. Do you have any idea how much she'd hate that? Someone. Some _thing_ else deciding what she's going to be? She'd fight the hell out of that, and.” He put his fist to his stomach, and Allura shoved the trash can towards him just in time for him to be sick into it.

When he lifted his head she already had a cool, damp cloth and some fresh juice with which to rinse out his mouth. “I have to leave,” he whispered, “her brother wants to use her for war and I have to leave her so she'll be safe.”

“Could you, knowing this?” Zarkon asked quietly, but all three of them knew the answer, so Shiro just drank his juice and shook.

“I'd like to go back now please, your Majesty,” the human finally whispered, setting down his empty glass, “and I've decided on my boon.” He lifted his gaze to the immense fae. “I'd like a replacement for my arm, please. Something that can easily pass as a normal prosthetic, but I would like to request some. Tactical upgrades.” His mouth stayed soft, but his jaw flexed. “I need something I can protect her with, come what may.”

“Of course, Cerberus,” Zarkon inclined his head and offered him a purple pendant on a silken string, “take this token. It will allow me to easily contact you when the replacement is ready. I will set my finest engineers and alchemists to the task.”

“Please also give the High Priestess my thanks,” Shiro managed a flex to his lips that might have passed for a smile, taking the necklace and tucking it under his collar.

“I am certain she will be,” the twitch to Zarkon's lower lip was almost invisible, “pleased to hear them.” He turned and picked up a small box from the side table, then offered it to Shiro. “There should be more than enough treatment here for everyone working in the aquifer, with enough left over for the young Lady Holt to analyze and recreate.”

He nodded and looked over at Allura. “Are you staying here to rest?”

She gave him a smile, already getting to her feet and brushing off her legs. “I like to think you know me better than that.”

“It was a long shot, but I thought I'd ask.” He lifted his attention back to the emperor, who motioned to the wall, where Shiro had been certain there had been a short bookshelf but now sported a relatively simple door. “Thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty.” He motioned for Allura to precede him through the doorway, making sure his grip on the box was firm as he followed.

“If you see her, please give Colleen my best.” Zarkon timed the words perfectly; when Shiro turned around in surprise, he came up short against a dark stone wall.


	24. Bad Day for Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Allura speak with their friends about what they learned from Zarkon. Curtis and Adam express their concern.

“What are you all st—mmf.” Shiro backpedaled obediently as Lance's hand over his mouth drove him to a stop against Adam's chest.

The Dire leaned around him to stare him in the eye. “It's been a week,” he informed Shiro quietly, “Lance and Curtis have been beside themselves.” His mouth twitched slightly, and he pressed a kiss to the HOPE agent's jaw. “I was worried, too. Glad you flew back to us.”

Shiro could feel himself starting to smile back at those warm golden-brown eyes, and his attention turned back to Lance, who made an impatient and distinctly insectile clicking noise in his throat. “Curtis remembered bad things again,” the demon told him in a low voice, “and I felt bad so I promised to let him kiss you first. I know if I uncover your mouth, Adam will kiss you, and then I will have broken my promise. So we're gonna wait, until Curtis gets down from helping Hunk change lightbulbs. Yeah?”

Shiro nodded, relaxing a little against Adam's chest and offering the box of treatment over to the re-glamoured Allura, whose movement was limited to an undignified waddle with Katie attached to her waist. He felt all of him catch on the bright smile the tiny blonde shot his way. “I'll hug you after you get all your kisses out of the way, Taka!” She promised cheerfully.

He nodded, then turned his attention back to Lance and tipped his head. “A week bunked in with Haxus has done totally amazing things for both their moods, even though there's no wifi down here,” the demon told him, giving the blonde a small smile of his own, “I think I even saw him smile this morning.”

“Haxus smiles all the time,” Sendak noted from where he stood manning both safety lines, “he just doesn't like you.” He jerked slightly, then frowned upwards. “Take your time, Curtis,” he called up, “you will not kiss Takashi any faster if you tangle your line and break something.”

Shiro's eyes flicked to the empty boxes next to Sendak, then back to Lance. “James and Keith dropped the bulbs off, then went back to the surface,” Lance explained, tipping his head, “they were going to stay, but Sendak offered to eat James, so.”

“I did inform him that I would send his bones back to his family to be properly enshrined,” the Chimera pointed out over his shoulder, “apparently only members of a certain age bracket are allowed to threaten him.”

“Keith bit him,” there was an uncomfortable amount of glee in Lance's voice, “in the _tit_.”

“Kid's got teeth, I'll give him that.”

Shiro flicked his eyes down towards the void of where his right arm had been, then rolled his eyes a little at Lance. “Hah! Shiro says you don't have to tell _him_ that!”

“Human flesh is easy to tear,” Sendak sighed, giving Hunk a little more tension, “Chimera are made to withstand. He took a bite out of me. Like I was a _goat_.”

The Cerberus blinked, wrinkled up his forehead, and stared at Sendak's back. Lance tipped his head. “Dude, correct me if I'm wrong but...isn't your third a goat?”

“He was indeed. Also, an abusive dickbag, and delicious.” Haxus offered Allura a bottle of water in exchange for the box in her hands and bowed his head as she accepted the trade. “Imagine being part of an entity patched together from three people and deciding that one of them never gets to weigh in on anything just because they don't have legs. Also everything that possibly goes the least bit sideways healthwise is their fault because they're the only non-mammal.”

“The least of his crimes,” Sendak murmured, giving his partner a smile over his shoulder. It was so soft and fond that Shiro felt himself warm a little, but he couldn't help but wonder what the third had done to Haxus that had driven the other two to kill and eat him. “Once a decade we prepare a goat the same way we ate him, and we honor his death.”

Haxus snorted. “Nothing to honor about his life, certainly.”

“No, but he was tasty in death. And filling.”

“That was why I started giving Katharine old herb samples. Some of the spices we cooked him with have since gone extinct, so I asked her if she could make a plant grow from a dried out piece of leaf, and she told me that there was one way to find out.”

“I can, by the way,” Katie informed them all, taking the box from Haxus and squinting at the folded instructions tucked inside, “don't need a seed or a blossom or whatever. Just a bit of dead leaf.” She squinted at the list. “Most of these ingredients are totally doable, but I do not recognize this measurement system at all.”

Shiro flicked his eyes at Allura, who gave him a smile. “Zarkon said there's enough for you to analyze so that you can properly reproduce it,” she assured the young alchemist, who hissed a quiet 'victory!' and folded the instructions back up.

“How is the emperor, Firstborn?” Sendak asked politely.

“I didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking.”

“It was a bit of a concern.” He admitted, then nodded and began gathering in rope as Curtis made his way back around the cavern wall. “Might want to offer Takashi some lip balm or something, Lance,” he noted over his shoulder.

“And a mint,” Allura added, “just in case.” She wrinkled her nose when Shiro looked at her. “What? I know the juice is very good at washing it away, but you did vomit repeatedly.”

Lance leaned back a little, digging in his pocket with his free hand. “Gross,” he said brightly, then offered Shiro a liquid-filled mint burst and a tube of peppermint lip balm. He moved his hand to Adam's mouth when the Cerberus accepted, and made a face when the Dire licked his palm. “Gross!”

Adam's hands settled firmly on Shiro's hips as they heard Curtis' feet hit the stone next to Sendak, and the Chimera hastily let go of the tension line as Curtis all but ripped it from his hand. He slammed bodily into Shiro still in full climbing harness, rope whizzing over pulleys behind him, and grabbed both sides of the hunter's face to press their mouths together.

Shiro couldn't taste anything but mint, but the way Curtis' tongue moved against his made him glad that Adam was holding them up. He felt himself melt back against Adam and buried his fingers in Curtis' hair. His hand tingled with how soft it was, his fingers brushed a thick patch of old scar, and he felt his knees consider giving out on him when the muscular Cuban slid his palm up to lift the edge of his tunic. Some of his anxiety over what he'd realized in the fae realm drained from him, and he pulled back from the kiss with a gasp. Curtis smiled up at him and winked one faintly glowing blue eye, then smacked him in the chest as he stepped back.

“You scared the crap out of us! We got to lunch break and you and Allura were nowhere to be found! Spent the rest of the day looking for you. We found where you'd left off, but there wasn't even a hint at where you'd gone. Adam went furry, thinking you'd gotten pulled under.”

“He doesn't need to know that,” the Dire objected quietly, but he gave the Cerberus a faint smile and a shrug when Shiro looked over his shoulder at him.

“I didn't know the two of you cared so much,” he managed, still trying to catch his breath from Curtis' kiss.

“Isn't it obvious?” Adam lowered his head and leaned forward for Shiro to see his confusion better. “You could roost here, Takashi. Dryreef is ready to be your home, if you should ask it.” He looked puzzled and squinted a little when Shiro's eyes filled with tears and he looked away. “Don't you know that's what happens when you play the hero?”

The hunter jerked, then pulled himself away from Adam's grasp and gently disentangled himself from Curtis. “I'm. Really sorry we worried you guys and. That's sweet, and all but. I need to talk to Katie.”

“Of course,” Curtis gave him a soft smile that did nothing to negate the alarms jangling in Shiro's brain, “we're sorry we freaked you out.”

“It's just. It's all. A lot. And there are other things right now than. Uh. That.” He held up his hand as Lance tipped his head, mind spinning, and stumbled away towards the fluffy glow of Allura's starlight hair.

She sat with Katie and Haxus by the banked fire, watching Hunk replace the last few antibacterial bulbs on his side. The smaller blonde stayed tucked in the folds of Haxus' long prosthetics, diligently recalibrating one with a strange-looking bronze tool. “Hey Taka, you look like a hug would crowd you so I won't,” amber eyes flicked up from her task, then back down to the bronze in her hand. “So when it vibrates and turns the same temperature as my palm?”

“The calibration is complete, and the magic is fully optimized.” One long-fingered hand stayed on her hip as she straightened up to grin at him, and he dropped his head to bump their foreheads together. “You're getting much better already.”

“I'm a very quick study,” she informed him, eyes sparkling, “which is good because my teacher is an impatient dick.” She pressed her forehead back against his, then leaned back and finally turned to look at Shiro. “You are totally freaked out,” she noted.

“By a dozen things,” he agreed, sinking to the floor beside Allura. “Katie, in the fae realm. I was talking to the Emperor and apparently he knows your mother.” It wasn't the first thing he had intended to come out of his mouth, but he supposed it was a softer place to start. “On a first name basis.”

The blonde squinted, lifting the bronze tool to scratch the inside of her ear with it only to have Haxus take it before it could be inserted. She used her pinky instead. “I can't say it _surprises_ me, but yeah, considering Allura's the only non-constructed fae that spends any time on this side of the hedge as far as anyone knows, I can see how it would be unsettling, yeah.” She pulled her hand away and sniffed her pinky, them grimaced and wiped it on her pants leg. “Did you eat or drink while you were there?”

“He is protected against being bound to the fae realm,” Allura pre-empted his answer with an apologetic smile, “the emperor wanted to make it seem like the protection was on the room to put you more at ease.”

“Nice of him,” Shiro nodded a little, then shook his head, “who put--”

“You know who.” She tipped her head as she stared him in the eye.

He heard the echo of that voice in his bones again, and nodded. “Matt knew about the sirens,” he blurted out, suddenly finding himself unable to look in Katie's direction, “I mean. I think he knew. Knows. I think he told HOPE he came here to monitor the situation for them, so they wouldn't take you away to study you. But I also think.” He could see the tilt to her head out of the corner of his eye, hear the faint hiss from Haxus that warned him her eyes had gone that hard heliodor yellow again. “I think he knew you would find out and I think he meant for you to destroy HOPE over this. I know how much he really hates them.” He pulled his hand away when Allura tried to take hold of it, and closed his eyes.

The silence was oppressive and clawed its way down his throat and into his chest, and he tried to find the will to beg her to speak but still couldn't open his eyes. It wasn't until he heard Haxus whisper her name and the weight lifted that he realized it wasn't in his head. He knew without looking that the light on his wristband matched her eyes. He gasped for breath.

“Our mom used to work for them, you know,” she said quietly, “she was a Shadow. She thinks we don't know, but Matt found out when he was in training. They offered him the same gig—assassination, intelligence, financial espionage on a governmental scale. She's the reason France stopped letting in new humans. It's probably how she met the fae emperor, they probably sent her to kill him. When she retired, the old Shadow program shut down for a while. All of their involved officers were found dead on the same morning, except Mom and maybe, uhm. We have an uncle whose face we've never seen and we think it's because he was involved, too. When I was little we could still call him on this crystal mirror thing in Mom's walk-in. I think he's probably dead now because I haven't spoken to him since I was...” she let out a little huff, “since I was Carl. He never got to know Katie.”

Shiro felt those last words in his heart like a spear, and finally opened his eyes to look at her. Her eyes were their usual amber-hazel again, and bright with unshed tears. He realized she hadn't denied what he'd said about Matt, and offered her his hand. She grabbed it and pulled herself into his lap with a small sob, and he lay his cheek across the wild mess of dark blonde hair while she cried. “You've always been Katie,” he whispered, pressing an awkward sideways kiss to her hair, “you've always been Katie and he knew you just fine, sweetheart.”

“They killed him,” she whispered, “he knew too much about them and they killed him and if they knew how to they'd kill my mom and Matt, too. They've been killing all of Dryreef, Taka. All my friends. Keith. Adam. Curtis, everybody. Hunk and Lance now, too. Matt's not wrong. I'll burn them down for this. Every last goddamned one who was in on it.” She lifted her head, and he moved his so she could look him in the eye. “Will you help me?”

He had always known the answer to every question she asked him. “Of course I will, Katie. All the way down.” He brushed her tears away with his thumbs and looked up at the sound of hesitant footsteps. “Now. Looks like Hunk's done changing lightbulbs. This enough simulated sunlight for your plants?”

She nodded, and accepted Hunk's hand and quick hug. She even smiled a little when the big man released her. “You have no idea what I'm upset about,” she noted, her expression puzzled.

He shrugged. “Doesn't matter. My friend is upset.”

She hugged him again—by the look on his face, it was a great deal stronger than he'd anticipated—then turned to the aquifer and took off her boots. She handed them to Haxus, who set them by the fire to warm while she worked. He shrugged at Shiro's inquisitive look, but didn't offer an explanation. “Should be fine,” she announced, then glanced towards where Adam, Curtis and Lance stood discussing something in a huddle, “you guys might want to all sit down. Something strong enough to do this, it's gonna be a little seismic.”

Hunk plopped down where he was and settled his palms on the ground to brace himself on top of that. Lance hurried over to curl around him, his returning human proportions making the pose look a bit silly. Curtis and Adam came over to flop by the fire, and Haxus pulled Sendak down to hold both his massive paw-hands in his own. Shiro settled himself down a little more and fixed his attention on Katie in case her magic needed to be interrupted.

He felt the resistance of the earth before the cavern started shaking, and saw Hunk's shoulders curl and his head drop as though he feared the whole desert would come crashing down on them. He wondered, for a moment, if he should worry about that, too, and then the tremors eased. The worst that fell was a few bits of loosened dirt he could hear slipping down the rough walls.

The sight before him had much more of his attention. The entirety of the aquifer turned the same heliodor as her eyes when she was upset, then flared green and held steady. The plants that ripped themselves through the waters and into the massive body of the biggest siren grew and thickened with a speed that made Shiro feel a little sick again. He felt Allura's hand on his back. The sounds were horrific, the smell that washed over them at once familiar and a thousand times worse than what they'd already endured, and the Cerberus turned away to throw up again. It tasted like sweet juice and too much mint. Some part of his mind wondered, after all that he'd been told, why he couldn't hear Hunk puking as well, though he supposed it was possible that the sounds of the sirens' bodies being torn apart at the joints probably covered that. He could barely hear his own retching over the cacophony.

It seemed like it went on forever, and though Shiro never saw Katie's stance or shoulders waver, he was starting to grow concerned for her outflow of power. He started to get to his feet, but Allura kept a vicelike grip on his arm and pulled him firmly back down. When he gave her a questioning look, she lifted a finger to her temple and then touched his. He nodded, then watched her face screw up in concentration before she shook her head. He shrugged an apology, and she patted his arm.

He saw her glance over her shoulder at Lance, and looked over at the demon himself. He looked irritated, and realized Allura's attempt to 'shout' through his mental void had probably been audible to the others—and possibly a distraction to Katie. He patted her knee, and she turned back to him with a grimace of apology. It seemed Lance was already reading her at least one riot act, so he patted her again in forgiveness.

He wasn't sure how long it had been—hours at least, he was sure—when the sound of tearing flesh and wrenching cartilage finally stopped. Katie finally swayed slightly, and Shiro bolted up to catch her as she fell. Her feet made a sucking noise as she toppled over, and he stared with horror at the root systems that knitted themselves together in the gaps of stone where she had been standing.

“Backgrowth,” Haxus offered quietly, helping him prop up Katie's head and giving her a fresh bottle of water, “hard to avoid on big jobs like this, even for Katharine. Did they get under your skin, little sunflower?” He brushed her hair from her sweat-soaked forehead so tenderly Shiro felt a part of himself fracture at the touch.

“Nothing gets through my skin, viper,” she croaked, and the faint smile she gave him before clutching the bottle of water and downing it was as sweet as his touch. Shiro felt like he was intruding, but Haxus made no move to take Katie from his lap. “Hey, Lu, why were you screaming?”

“I wasn't—it was more of a holler, I think, and I'm sorry. I was trying to speak with Shiro while our ears were being inundated. I forgot about the bubble. I didn't hurt anyone, did I?”

“Nah, we've been around Gary for forever,” Curtis offered for himself and Adam, letting the Dire up to compulsively check the sandstone walls, which hardly looked disturbed.

“I shielded Hunk,” Lance shrugged a little, “but it was still reckless. You could have hurt someone.”

“She said she was sorry,” Hunk offered, also downing a bottle of water and looking worn, “it's fine.” He leaned back against Lance's chest and gave Allura a faint smile.

“Haxus and I are built to withstand the mental voices of angry Gods, Firstborn, we are fine.” Sendak inclined his head to her and offered more water to anyone who wanted.

They all drank in relative silence, enjoying the clean water, then Shiro lifted his head a little. “Were the two of you. I mean. As a single. I mean. The chimera. The singular construct. It was made by the fae emperor?”

“Yes and no. Haxus and I were adopted by the Emperor as children. We are of his House and his Court. Our third was...”

“Something else,” Haxus said dryly.

“Ah. Our third was, after his own desire, named of the Firstborn's father's Court. Our construction was to save our lives, his was his own punishment to his father.” The big chimera shook his head, and Shiro let himself enjoy the play of light through the thick ruff of fur above the collar of his shirt. “Unfortunately his presence was also a punishment to us.”

“Right, so you ate him.”

“Eventually.”

“But that's why you smell like cinnamon. Because you're part of the emperor's Court.”

“He already confirmed that for you, Shiro,” Allura gave him a puzzled look, “you even asked about it like you already knew.”

“I presumed, but honestly right now, princess, I would just really like to hear people say things out loud.” He gave her a look, which she tipped her head graciously to and spread her hands.

“We are in fact, technically speaking by human terms, the Firstborn's younger brothers. And yes, Takashi, we are ranked in the emperor's Court. That is why I am a Commander.” He offered the hunter a smile, and Shiro's eyes caught on the faint pale flash of the tips of his canines. “As to who constructed us, technically speaking it was probably the High Priestess and her Acolytes, since the emperor's personal knowledge of alchemy is mostly kitchen work.”

The phrase almost echoed a moment, and then the little area all but exploded with nervous laughter. “Are you telling me the emperor of all fae kind _cooks_?” Lance asked incredulously. “Isn't he like, a million feet tall with hands like war hammers--”

“It's about fourteen, actually,” Shiro cut in gently, and smiled at the demon's wide-eyed stare, “and I'm not surprised at all. He and his partner both seem like they revel in the domestic arts. There was this tapestry--” he shook his head a little when he tried to call the image back to his mind, and Allura patted his leg gently, “I can't remember what it looked like, but it was gorgeous, and the edges of the backing were a little water-stained. I think the emperor's partner made it. He's aquatic. And the second time they fed me, it was cooked differently, the emperor brought it in himself. There was this. Kind of a sweet mush. For a side, that wasn't there the first time. It had a bite to it.”

“Creamed trapflower, probably,” Sendak offered helpfully, “his favorite. Has to be very carefully made or the acidity won't reduce properly and it will eat right through your jaw.” He shrugged at the horrified looks from Lance and Hunk. “It's a carnivorous plant. Narcotic perfume. Gets you high so you stand in one place to be eaten. He has a very large greenhouse full.”

“Lu, you're sweet and wonderful and gorgeous but I never want to visit the fae lands,” Lance announced, clapping his hands together.

“Lance, you're a Divine and the gaps would sooner shred you up and spit you out as a vague paste, so I wouldn't invite you anyway.” She gave him an impish smile when he pouted at her glib response.

“And the emperor's partner was very particular about making sure the seams on the clothes they gave me laid in all the right places, so yeah. Not surprised they have a lot of 'domestic' hobbi—oh my fuck, I ate a meal prepared by the fae emperor.”

“Theeeeeere it is,” Allura hummed, reaching up to gently rub his back in little circles, “you drank his rum, too.”

“Is that was that was? All I tasted was a bright summer day with no cares on my mind, and. You mean he brewed that, don't you.”

“Slow, even breaths,” she encouraged.

Lance's face popped up over Haxus' shoulder, and the demon tipped his head at the tiny blonde, who held her arms out to the chimera to be gently carried back over to the fire and her warm boots. He gently touched Shiro's cheek, tipping his head to their eyes met. “Do you want another mint?” He asked quietly, nodding and pulling the small tin from his pocket when Shiro nodded. He pressed the liquid-filled bead to the Cerberus' lips and coaxed him into accepting it. “Yeah, no offense, man, but you super needed that.” He stroked his hands down along Shiro's neck and shoulders, gentle on the right where Shiro hadn't yet informed him it no longer hurt. “Dryreef operates by a different set of rules than you're used to,” he informed the HOPE agent softly, “I had to learn that pretty quickly, too, but you've never been in a Sanctuary before, right?”

“No, if a target makes it to a Sanctuary city I'm supposed to leave my report with the desk agent and pick up my next assignment unless it's a Priority Mauve.”

“And I was a Priority Mauve?”

“Don't laugh, it's the color for 'dangerous' above red,” Shiro sighed at Lance's barely-stifled giggle, “and yes, all Divine are labeled Priority Mauve.”

“So that's why you lied to me and tried to get me to leave with you? That's protocol?”

“Yeah. If that doesn't work, that's when I check in with the desk agent and call my superiors for further instructions.” The words fell from him at Lance's gentle coaxing as though they were on a string, and the demon were winding it onto a spindle.

“And those instructions were?” His thumbs felt like hot irons to the knots of stress in Shiro's neck in the best way, and left what felt like vague paste holding up his head in their wake.

“To continue trying to win your trust to bait you out of town before the Dire accepted you as a living member of the Sanctuary.” He was starting to wonder if the mints were something special, but he hadn't seen enough of the tin to see a label. A distant part of his mind whispered that he should never have accepted anything to ingest from any Extrahuman. It was silenced by the earnest blue of Lance's eyes.

“And once I was accepted as a member of the Sanctuary?”

“I should have left,” he swallowed hard, he could almost feel the string of words tangle in his teeth behind all the mint, “but Allura needed my help, and it turned out Katie was in contact with the fae and.” He snapped his teeth over the last part, but he knew Lance knew what he'd been going to say from the way those long lashes fluttered. “I should have left, but by then I was too emotionally invested.”

“And now you have a way to contact the fae emperor,” Lance noted, reaching out to hook a finger under the silken cord and pull the gleaming purple pendant into view, “you're flirting-friends with his Heir--”

“Firstborn,” Allura, Sendak, and Haxus corrected simultaneously.

“You're also growing...closer,” the way Lance's thin lips twitched around his grin was mesmerizing, “with the Dire and his mate. You've met the second Guardian of Dryreef, and you intend to challenge the Holts to make sure Keith actually gets punished for something he did. Here you are, having gotten ass deep in everything here, making sure HOPE's plan comes apart. So, let me ask you something, Shiro.” He dropped his eyes to his long fingers, tangling casually in the cord around Shiro's neck, then back up to the dazed grey eyes. He wet his lips, and watched Shiro's eyes drop to his mouth. “When you and Matt parted, who broke up with whom?”

He felt like the words punched him through the back of his own chest, and he heard Katie raise her voice to start yelling at Lance from Haxus' lap. He lifted his hand to stop her. The light on his band was green. He dragged in a breath, and leaned forward to kiss the demon as enthusiastically as Curtis had kissed him earlier, reveling in the overwhelming taste of mint between the two of them and the way Lance melted into his lap like he was being poured there.

When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily, and he gave the demon a grin. “Thank you, Lance. Perfect setup. Excellent shot.”

“I never miss, actually,” the demon told him breathlessly, fingers now tangled in the ties to his tunic. “I think probably you should tell the others you occasionally need emotional punching as therapy before I find out how hard Sendak or Adam can hit me.”

“I'm good,” he assured the bigger chimera with a nod, then flashed Katie a smile. “I feel a lot more grounded and a lot more normal with the idea that Matt started arranging all of this for me years ago.”

“Genuinely, Taka, Dryreef does have some great therapists,” the blonde informed him, shaking her head.

“And I would never hit you,” Adam objected quietly, sitting behind Curtis to wrap his arms around him protectively. His husband looked over his shoulder to give him a smile, and Adam rubbed his cheek over the section of Curtis' scalp Shiro thought the scar might have been.

“So who stopped the earthquake? Katie said the growth would be seismic, I barely felt anything.”

Hunk sheepishly lifted a hand. “I'm not a great and powerful anything, but I know enough of the right trances to speak to the earth,” he shrugged, “my _tina_ 's dad taught me some things before he passed. I just asked it not to fight the roots and told it that it could claim them when they were done. As soon as Katie's recovered enough to get the pieces into the passage tunnel to the backflow, the roots will fossilize and help actually shore up the whole cave system.”

“Instantaneous fossilization?” Allura repeated politely.

“I mean it's not instantaneous, it takes about an hour,” Hunk shrugged. He glanced around the group, realizing they were staring at him in disbelief—except for Lance, who was beaming from Shiro's lap like a proud spouse at a cooking competition—and wet his lips. “That's...kind of a 'great and powerful' thing, isn't it?”

“Little bit,” Sendak's voice sounded slightly strained, and he opened a bottle of water for himself.

“No fucking wonder you can manually wield what is supposed to be mounted artillery,” Shiro breathed, “you disperse the recoil into the ground without even thinking about it.” He looked down at Lance, who was still beaming. “You knew?”

“Sometimes when I'm blowing him the ground grabs my legs,” the demon admitted, “so I kinda figured. But Hunk's much happier being the normal human in our social circle, so.”

“I swear I don't ask it to do that,” Hunk sounded genuinely distressed, and twisted his fingers together until Lance levered himself out of Shiro's lap to curl against him again, “it's supposed to be only when I'm trancing.”

“Buddy you are so very chill that I think there's a part of you trancing at any given point in time,” Lance gently stroked his hair and readjusted his bandanna, “and nobody's mad. Everyone here has had powers we've used subconsciously at one point or another. Hell, Keith throws pheromones like _mad_ every time you're anywhere close, and I don't think he ever knows he's doing it.”

“Don't rat him out on that stuff when he's not here to defend himself,” Hunk scolded softly, wiping a little dirt from Lance's cheek with his thumb.

“My point is, it's okay. You don't have the kind of heart that would subconsciously ask it to do anything harmful—not even to Nicky,” he pre-empted the comment with a smile, and Hunk closed his mouth to smile back, “so it's okay. Maybe we should find someone who can teach you a little more about conscious control if you're super worried about it though. Okay?”

Shiro smiled a little at the warmth the two simply radiated and felt himself relax. Something felt a little more 'right' in the air when Hunk and Lance were supporting each other, even though the Samoan had made his personal feelings on Shiro quite clear. “Let's all get some rest for tonight,” he suggested carefully, “I think we've all done enough for today.” He shifted his attention to Katie when the blonde opened her mouth to object. “Can the modified algae--”

“It's moss,” she corrected immediately.

“Can the modified moss filter out the extra toxins in the water for the night?”

“Yeah, I've spent all week making sure it's a perfect filtration system, but--”

“Then we can rest.”

“I was gonna point out that the plants aren't genetically structured to last that long,” she informed him sweetly, “but sure, Taka, I can grow it all again tomorrow. Hunk, that won't put too much of a strain on the rock or anything, right?”

“All right,” he lifted his hand and shook his head, “sorry for wanting both of you to be able to rest up.”

“I just need like, an hour.” She assured him, leaning back against Haxus' chest again. “And Hunk can rest more while I'm working, since he'll be fossilizing the root systems and can't do that in the middle of things. We've been mostly resting for a week, Taka. We'll be fine.”

“Also, don't be a passive-aggressive bitch,” Lance added cheerily, “and that goes to both of you. It doesn't do anyone any good, and mostly it makes the rest of us stress. We don't deserve that.” He gave them both the same flat smile, then returned to gently fussing over Hunk.

Katie stared over at the demon for a long moment, then nodded. “If you need to rest, Taka, that's okay,” she said carefully, “you have literally had a day that has lasted a week, and Allura said you threw up and seized while you were there, plus you've thrown up here, and you were freaked out when you came over earlier. As someone who suffers pretty heavily from depression and anxiety, I can tell you that freak outs burn up a lot of energy _and_ dehydrate you.”

Sendak offered Shiro a small cooler. “There are four bottles of water in here, a bag of comprehensive trail mix, and several packets of electrolyte powder,” he informed the Cerberus quietly, “go lie down.”

When he opened his mouth to object, Allura poked him gently in the back with the hand rubbing small circles on it, and he sighed, then nodded. “All right,” he levered himself to his feet, then accepted the cooler and snagged Sendak's thumb with his pinky finger, “if you wouldn't mind joining me, Commander? If I sleep by myself it won't be very restful.”

Surprised, the big chimera glanced down at their hands, then let out a quiet, pleased rumble and nodded. “I will keep watch, Cerberus,” he agreed, gamely following Shiro down the tunnel towards one of the lamp-lit alcoves.


	25. Begin the Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Curtis play tug-of-war with Lance for Shiro's attention.

The fur under his cheek was softer than silk, and smelled like cinnamon. He remembered having vague intentions of getting a little frisky with the big chimera, and the soft smile as Sendak had agreeably stripped off his clothing and laid down, but after Shiro had crawled on top of him to bury himself if the plush fur it got a little blurry. He lifted his head to squint up at the enormous, purring creature, and was greeted by that same indulgent smile. “Did you put a sleep spell on me?” He asked grumpily.

“Chimera cannot channel magic, as we are magical constructs and our own spellwork simply breaks down and absorbs any excess magical energy.” Sendak explained patiently, and for a moment Shiro heard one of his professors dryly repeating the same lesson while he doodled medieval weaponry in the margins of his notes. “You were just tired.”

“What...time is it?” The hunter asked blearily, pressing his fingers carefully into the corners of his eyes.

“I think it's been a couple of hours since everyone else went to sleep, from what I've heard,” Sendak gently stroked the length of his back, and Shiro felt himself nodding back towards sleep. He pushed himself up a little further to negate that, and winced when he realized the put his knee directly in Sendak's crotch. “Gently, please,” the chimera rumbled.

“Sorry, sorry. I don't even. Entirely remember lying down here. How did I get up here without kneeing you in the groin?”

“You didn't.”

Remembering his very detailed intentions when they'd come back to the little alcove, Shiro winced again and hid his face in Sendak's chest fur. “I'm so sorry.”

“You are not the first person to knee me in the genital sheath, I doubt you will be the last,” it was oddly reassuring as he felt Sendak stretch beneath him and was immediately distracted by the play of hard muscle under the luxurious fur. He pushed his face down a little harder and felt Sendak's quiet laugh more than he heard it. “Here, I will help you sit up safely, and you should drink a bottle of this water with the gross green powder in it.”

“Way to sell it, big guy. When you put it so temptingly, how can I refuse?” He managed a small grin as Sendak unceremoniously scooped an arm around him and sat up, cradling him in the crook of his elbow. “It is not. Rational. How large you are right now.”

“I compress myself in social situations to make others comfortable,” the feline chimera admitted, shifting Shiro further to settle into his lap as he straightened up, “and also so I don't get a crick in my neck staring down at everyone. I do relax in my sleep to a size more comfortable to me, though. And also I didn't think you'd object to having a large enough sleeping surface to roll around on.”

Shiro leaned back to squint up at him. “Is that a dog joke?”

“Not intentionally. Here.” He pressed a bottle of water and an open packet of the nutrient powder into Shiro's hands. “I'm just grateful you haven't told me yet that I smell like nice dirt.”

He was laughing so hard it was difficult not to spill the powder. “In Adam's defense, he was both hung over and drunk.” He watched the particles filter down through the liquid for a moment, remembering what the Dire had said to him more recently. “You said you and Haxus, you guys don't live here, right? You live in Firebird.”

“That's correct.”

“Because it's safer?”

“The people of Dryreef do not feel comfortable around representatives of the fae emperor, given our actions in past wars. It was easy for them to accept the Firstborn—she is beautiful and kind-hearted and protective of even the humans here—but Haxus and I are...”

“Too much?”

“I serve in the emperor's highest command circle,” Sendak explained gently, “in the event of another fae war, it would be up to me to provide what materials and troops I can to my emperor. I have not, in the past, been entirely...humane about my methodology.”

“Why does that sound like you know you should be in Hell right now but you're still trying to present yourself to me in the best light?”

“I'm a six thousand year old Greek who has spent the majority of my life modified by and in service to the fae. I don't really believe in Hell. But it's not an inaccurate description of the situation.” The chimera screwed the lid on the water bottle gently, and Shiro grimaced, obediently shaking it up.

“In light of that, I'm surprised I haven't heard you make more jokes about the Cerberus thing.” He leaned against Sendak's bicep a little to get a better look at his face. “I haven't made any because I honestly can't think of any good ones.”

“That has never stopped your jokes before.”

“Oh, whoa. Wounded. I'm so hurt right now. Straight to the heart.”

“Only a fool carries that around with him.”

“Well, I am human. Sort of a necessity.”

“HOPE needs better teaching staff, obviously.”

“I. Wait. What?” He was distracted by the distinct kale taste to his water, but that turn in the banter made him look up at Sendak again, who was watching him with amusement. “Humans can't just put their hearts other places.”

“There are no less than nine thousand different methods for a human to put their heart—physical or metaphysical—into a magical or otherwise blessed receptacle and continue living. It can make them effectively immortal, and there are an equal number of reasons not to do it, but most of those can safely boil down to 'it's a terrible idea.'”

“Doesn't that end up fundamentally changing what they are, though? I mean, once they take their heart out, aren't they effectively no longer human?”

“Is this a philosophical debate or a legal one?” The words were almost the same tone as the low purr that had started up again deep in the chimera's chest, and Shiro felt them down every nerve in his body, setting them afire and leaving them tingling.

He shook his head and downed half the bottle of water, choking on the taste to clear the rush of lust from his brain. It only partially worked, and he heard Sendak's stifled chuckle. He appreciated the chimera's attempt at letting him keep his dignity by not commenting on the smell of his hormones. “Both, I guess, but I think mostly a legal question.”

“Then probably it is something you should take up with--”

“ _ **NO!**_ ” The wail echoed down the hall, and Shiro and Sendak were both up and on their feet before they so much as exchanged a glance.

The hunter was halfway to Adam and Curtis' entryway before Sendak grabbed his arm to stop him and shook his head. He bared his teeth, but forced his lips down over them as the rest of the team's heads appeared on either side of them.

“Curtis had another nightmare,” Sendak explained very quietly, “his husband will handle it. It is not our place to interfere.” He glanced towards Haxus and Katie.

“Let's start packing up our stuff,” Katie suggested, equally muted, “there's no way any of us are going back to sleep after that adrenaline surge, and anyway these caves haven't been good for Curtis.”

The others nodded and turned to begin cleaning up, but Shiro leaned against Sendak's grasp as though he wanted to go in and help comfort Curtis anyway. He thought of the way the man's smile curled up higher on one side, the way he never let the blue glow completely overtake the mischief in his eyes, the desperation with which he'd kissed Shiro the day before. It took him a moment to realize he could hear anxious whimpering to his left over Curtis' sobs from inside the smaller cave, and shushed the wolf so he could hear better.

“--Can't do it, I can't do it, Qochata, I can't, I just can't watch him die again, please--” he heard the soft voice muffle and could almost feel the press of Adam's collarbone against Curtis' lips. The silence dragged on for what felt like days.

“You won't have to, _tatam_ ,” he heard Adam whisper, probably directly into the soft, sweat-soaked hair, “I promise.” He sounded defeated.

Shiro finally let Sendak pull him back the rest of the way, but couldn't stop himself from looking back over his shoulder as the chimera ushered him back to where they had slept. He found himself blinking away tears and shook his head when Sendak gently asked him if he was all right. He waited until they were in their 'break room' to speak. “Whatever Curtis is remembering is--”

“None of our business,” Sendak interrupted firmly, picking up his clothing and beginning to shrink himself down to fit into them.

“It's _hurting him_ ,” Shiro insisted, baring his teeth, “and I don't like it. It makes me want to bite things. Curtis is a nice. He's.” He shook his head again, hearing the alarms in the back of his mind going off again. He felt his lips curling back further from his teeth.

“He's beautiful,” Sendak offered, bending slightly to gently stroke his scalp with his claws, “and his kindness is a big part of that beauty. He's patient and thoughtful and soft, even when his temper pulls him short. He smells a little like sugar cookies and a little like sunblock, like someone wrapped the winter holidays and summer vacation together in a bow with eyes blue enough to drown you in the desert. He has a voice like warm silk that sticks to your nerves like honey.”

“And he kisses like he never needs to breathe,” Shiro agreed, confused, “and in that moment he can convince you that you don't, either.”

“I wouldn't know that part,” the chimera shrugged, smiling good-naturedly, and released him to pull on his pants, “but I believe you when you say it.”

“You talk like you're in love with him,” the Cerberus moved slightly to look up into Sendak's face as the big man reached for his shirt.

The observation earned him a puzzled look, then Sendak shrugged on his loose tee and scrunched up his nose in a laugh. “Well, he'd be very hungry all the time if he couldn't have that effect on people, wouldn't he? Get your shoes and socks on and let's get going.” He grabbed his own hiking boots from the floor and headed out, leaving Shiro to scramble after him in dawning realization.

It didn't take them too long to get everything packed back into their packs. Katie went up to the lights this time to put back the anti-viral bulbs, moving with alarming speed while Hunk happily weighted the other end of the rope. She slipped and swung from the rope several times, but Hunk's grip never wavered despite Shiro tensing himself to lunge for it each time.

By the time Curtis and Adam came out, Lance had heated up a passable breakfast under Hunk's verbal instructions, and the group sat down to eat. No one said anything, but Shiro realized after a few minutes that he couldn't bring himself to look at Curtis. He glanced over at Allura from the corner of his eye instead, only to find her giving him the look of fond amusement he was starting to grow used to. He looked down at his food again, then lifted his chin. “You're staring at me, aren't you.”

Curtis' laugh was soft, and drew an answering smile from his lips. “You look like you got caught in your parents' porn stash,” he chortled, leaning comfortably against Adam, “it's all right, Takashi. I've had nightmares every night since we came down here, and they've been getting progressively worse. This isn't the first time I've shouted loud enough to wake people.”

Slowly, jerkily, Shiro managed to raise his eyes to Curtis, whose smile stayed soft and fond. “Why does Adam make bird jokes about me?”

The delighted smile grew. “' _Tsiro_ ' means 'sparrow' in Hopi. You prefer 'Shiro,' so.”

“It could be worse?”

“ _'Taaqa'_ means 'man.'” Adam rumbled, grimacing at the water mixture as he took a sip. “Seriously, if Keith wanted to make me puke, he could have just gotten a caffeine powder.” The last was muttered bitterly into the neck of the bottle as he took another tiny drink.

“Which is just as likely to kill you as make you puke, and a little greenery is good for even the biggest and baddest of wolves.” Curtis patted his cheek and pushed his lips out in a mock-pout.

“Carrots and frozen peas, not...whatever the hell is in this.”

“And cranberries. I distinctly remember having to bail you out of prison over cranberries.”

The sound Adam made sounded like a discontented dog and Shiro did a doubletake to make sure he didn't see fur. The smile Lance shot his way assured him that this sort of conversation was standard for the two. “It was cranberry _sauce_ and it was--”

“Not worth the twelve hundred dollars in bail I had to pay,” his husband informed him with a smile, “or the restraining order from our neighbor. She was going to give me window box tips, Qochata. If you walk through our front door and wonder why the soul of our home is so empty, I want you to remind yourself that it's because of a fifty cent can of cranberry sauce. _Jellied_ cranberry sauce.”

“Our home is beautiful and I won't hear another word against it,” Adam pulled his forehead into a scowl and scooped Curtis into his lap, “I'll have you know that my brilliant, handsome, talented husband insisted that I help decorate our house so that it would reflect the harmony between us personally, and you know what?”

Curtis smiled up at him, biting the insides of his lips together. “It does?”

“It absolutely fucking does.” The Dire agreed, giving him one kiss on the lips and a second on the scarred part at the edge of his hair. “Now, let's not let this perfectly...well. This _edible_ meal that Lance salvaged from two hundred year old MREs get cold. Again.”

Their display did exactly what they had meant it to; Shiro relaxed and ate his meal without visibly avoiding anyone's gaze. He even loosened up enough to smile at Lance when the demon nudged their knees together and gave him an encouraging nod.

The clean up after breakfast was quick, and they all took a moment to stare over the now-empty aquifer to bid the sirens' death site a silent goodbye before they began the long trek back up the path towards the surface.

Lance sidled up to Shiro's side as he trailed along behind Adam and Curtis, who were in the lead. “You're really worked up over Curtis' nightmares,” he noted, twining his arms around Shiro's, “aren't you worried about Adam getting territorial?” He wiggled his fingers when the Dire looked over his shoulder.

“Not really,” the hunter admitted, frowning faintly, “I think Adam's heart is just as big as those growls he makes. I think while he'd prefer to remain monogamous, well.” He flashed a smile when Adam's head turned the other way so the were could look at him. “Even wolves sometimes form polycules. Anyway it's not like I think anything will actually happen. I just want to make sure Curtis is okay, in the end. No one's going to object to that.”

“I think it'd be hot,” Lance informed him with a smile, helping him steady when Shiro tripped over his own feet, “the three of you together. Power thruple.”

“No one has used that term in over two hundred years, Lance,” Curtis groaned, making a face over his shoulder.

“You're the one who taught it to me, Curtis,” the younger Cuban mocked, pitching his voice through his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Anyway, it's not like you and Adam are taking applications for thirds, or anything.”

“We are happy as we are,” Adam said firmly, then gave Shiro a small smile over his shoulder.

“We are,” Curtis agreed, humming up at him and stretching up to kiss the tip of his nose, “we are also both very attractive and approachable teachers at the local military base, so even if we _were_ open to, shall we say, cracking open the doors of opportunity in our relationship, it would not be something we would feel entirely safe to do openly.”

“The Garrison doesn't care if you're polyamorous!” Lance yelped, sounding almost offended on the institution's behalf.

“No, Lance, that's a reference to how much worse the sexual harassment we get from our students would compound if it was public knowledge that we opened our relationship to new influence.” Curtis rolled his eyes.

Lance blinked repeatedly. “Oh. _Oh_. And I bet the parents of students who get crappy grades accuse you of it, too, huh?”

“Every teacher gets our share of that,” Adam admitted with a sigh, “and it's really hard to not occasionally look some wannabe Eurothug Manly McButcherson in the eye and tell him he's more my type than his scrawny little twink-ass nineteen year old.”

Shiro wasn't sure what plane of existence spawned the sound that came from Lance's throat, but he never wanted to go there. He opened his mouth to ask the demon if he was okay, but his brain interrupted him by processing what Adam had just said and he felt himself briefly shut down. He vaguely heard Hunk whisper, “holy _crow_ , Professor,” like a plea for mercy behind him.

“He does this sometimes,” Curtis gave them all a smile, “he'll pinball through all the isms if you give him the room to run himself tired. You broke Takashi, Qochata, you should feel a little bad about that. And you would never go for a white guy.”

“Getting broken's how Cerberi get stronger, isn't it? He'll be fine.” Nonetheless, Adam lifted an eyebrow at Shiro until the human nodded.

“That's only if they break themselves, I think.”

“I'm okay,” Shiro managed in a strained voice, then shook himself and cleared his throat. “I'm okay. I just. Was not expecting that. You loosened up a bit while Allura and I were gone, Adam.”

“No, I'm just tired.” The Dire shook his head and put his arm around Curtis' waist, pulling his husband close for a moment and touching his cheek to his hair before loosening his grip so as not to make the hike harder.

Shiro shot Lance a curious glance, but the demon spread his hands. “Don't look at me, classes were like maybe a week in when I went blue giant.” He watched the way the hunter looked Curtis' back over curiously, and cackled. “So hey, when did you finally figure out that Curtis is a demon, too? Keith and I had a bet with Katie.”

“What's on the line?”

“I owe Keith a blowjob if he wins, I make Katie a big homemade dinner, and if I win I get my own pair of nightvision goggles from him and one free computer upgrade from her. I don't know what they bet each other; it sounded like they were talking in code. Something about big feet and moths?”

“Bigfoot and Mothman,” Shiro corrected automatically, then laughed. “They made wagers involving cryptid hunts. They've been hunting cryptids since before I met them. Katie used to always say she was going to find Mothman and marry him, and Keith would say the same about Bigfoot.”

“I have no idea what any of those are,” Lance told him brightly, “when did you figure it out?”

“Right before breakfast. Sendak helped the last pieces fall into place. Which of you won?”

The younger Cuban looked a little disappointed. “Katie did.”

“Never bet against a hyper-genius, Lance.” He gently ruffled the demon's hair, realizing he could only feel the barest lumps of his horns under the thick brown fluff. “Hey, almost completely human-shifted again, huh?” He caught his breath and bit his tongue when those blue eyes—which had not lost one single ounce of their intensity in his shift—peered up from under his wrist. “ _Oh,_ ” it was far softer than he had meant it to be, and before he could add to it he felt Adam's hand clamp over his wrist and pulled him forward, between the Dire and his mate. Shiro lifted his eyes to Curtis' face and felt his brows pull down in confusion.

“Keep your big pretty mouth shut,” Adam told him gruffly. The sweetness in Curtis' smile countered his husband's rough scowl. The Dire huffed as Lance made a confused whining sound and dropped back to sulk with Hunk and Allura.

“Don't worry about it, Takashi,” Curtis patted his hand, twining his arms around Shiro's and lacing their fingers together, “we know. We'll handle it.”

The hunter found himself drawn into the warmth of that smile, and lowered his head to rub his nose against Curtis'. “You know it is literally impossible to say no to you.”

“Now, I have been de-Sirenified, you are still wolfy and thus immune to my Divine powers, and I am literally vying for your attention with the fresh young model. How is it that you can say no to Lance and not to me?” The older Cuban settled the tips of his fingers on Shiro's chest and dragged them down.

“I can't.” Shiro reached up to catch the trailing hand with his, bringing Curtis' knuckles to his lips. He flashed Adam a brief smile at the were's performative growl, but didn't miss the upward tic of the Hopi man's mouth. He used the grip on the muscular demon's hand to spin him slightly as they walked, turning him towards his husband and grinning when Adam caught him easily with one arm. “I'm an absolute sucker.”

“For blue-eyed Cubans?” Curtis asked a little breathlessly, looking flushed and hooking his arm with Adam's.

“Just in general, really.” Shiro shrugged. “I think I'd have a pretty hard time telling Adam no if he told me to do things, too.”

“And you do have a tendency to immediately bow your head and say 'yes, princess,' when Allura gives orders,” the Dire noted, giving the hunter a small smile when Shiro yipped.

“You're not wrong. Does anyone ever say no to her, though? I still kind of want to ask her to use me as furniture.”

“Probably best you specify which piece or you might get something unexpected,” Adam mused, raising a brow.

“Literally any kind she wants.” The answer was unhesitating, and Shiro wrinkled his nose when Curtis burst out laughing at him. “I know, I know. The immediate instinct was 'footstool,' but I'll be honest, I would be fine with being a chair or a wardrobe.”

“First of all, gross, you can't store clothes inside people without either very distinct magic or a lot of leatherwork,” Curtis reached out to prod him in the chest.

“And second of all, the only way you could fit even a single ballgown of hers is if she used your other half.” Adam's mischievous smile made Shiro's heart flutter, and he had to look away so he didn't trip over his own feet again. He was half-carrying Curtis as they walked so he could keep his husband close to his chest. The demon's feet barely touched the rough floor.

“I have a hard time believing any of Allura's ballgowns are on this side of the hedge,” Shiro shrugged, “her apartment's kind of small and she works as a waitress. Unless there's another extra high society side of Dryreef that I have yet to see--”

“We have masquerade balls,” Adam interrupted gently. “The whole Sanctuary's invited, everyone gets together to help make gowns and jewelry. Keith's mask won most elegant last year, I have it in a case in the living room with the ribbon.”

He wasn't entirely sure what his face did while he thought that information over, but it had both other men laughing. “So she does have ballgowns.”

“She does, though I think she leaves them with the shadow-walkers to be taken apart for materials after each ball. They host a portion of the festivities each year. There's even a cart ride through the edges of their lands. Very romantic. Safe levels of radiation.”

“No one gets burned?”

“The nice thing about antiquated formal wear is that it gives you a fantastic excuse to be covered from head to toe. The shadow-walkers are protected from the lights of the party and the other guests are protected from the shadow-walkers' touch. I danced with a lovely shadow-walker in a gorgeous gown that looked like the fabric was spun from emeralds and sea foam. She,” he eyes dropped at the memory, and Shiro found himself strongly disliking the way the amber-gold had darkened, “she was from Phoenix.”

Shiro leaned back a little, pressing his lips closed against the questions he wanted to ask. He was technically human, and his training had emphasized over everything else that humans didn't talk to Extrahumans about Phoenix. Even for something like him, straddling the line so to speak, it was a good way to end up on the wrong side of things. But he wanted to ask about how many of the shadow-walkers in the area were from Phoenix, how many of them remembered--

Curtis nudged him. “You bite your lip any harder, Takashi, you're going to put a hole in it, and then you'll have to arrest yourself.”

He couldn't stop the smile those blue eyes brought to his face, even with the topic they were swiftly burying. “Why would I have to arrest myself?”

Adam huffed, and Shiro caught the edge of his smile. Curtis had pulled them both back. “Because it's a crime to ruin such a pretty mouth. Obviously.”

“Mm.” Shiro tapped his teeth together, then shook his head. “Really only very technically a cop.”

“Just enough for jokes.” Adam took his fingers and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, like Shiro'd done to Curtis earlier. He hadn't expected the gesture to feel like a brand, and awkwardly shoved his hand into his pocket when the Dire released it. His fingers closed around the piece of quartz Lance had made Hunk bring to him in the hospital. Antok must have found it when he'd burned his old clothes and made sure it was in the new pants, he reasoned. The thought made him feel a little more grounded.

He shook his head at Adam. “So are you guys monogamous or aren't you? You're. Honestly throwing me through all kinds of loops here.”

“And you'd like to hear people say things directly and out loud,” Adam noted with a faint smile.

“Yeah.”

“We have been,” Curtis shrugged a shoulder with a smile, “Adam's got enough energy to keep me fed by himself and I'm not losing my mind over a lack of variety _in my diet_ ,” the way he stressed the phrase cut off whatever Adam had opened his mouth to say, “so we're happy that way. Sometimes I kiss people for snacks, and he doesn't get snarly over that. We've discussed the idea of trying a threesome, but the potential threat to our careers has always been a concern. It was hard enough for me to get a job at the Garrison.” He reached up to knock on his own head, and Adam caught his fist and kissed it before his knuckles could touch his scar.

Shiro hadn't known there were things non-Divine could do to make demons blush, but Curtis' cheeks turned darker in the light from his headlamp and he couldn't help but wonder if what he had thought had been exhilaration from being spun earlier had been from the kiss to his hand. He could feel the appeal of making Curtis blush in the marrow of his bones. He looked away from them in an attempt to gather his thoughts, and let snippets of the conversations behind him drift through his awareness. The edges of the quartz felt reassuring under his thumb.

“--think it would take more than that to keep Commander Iverson out of someone's mind if he really wanted in, like I don't actually know how powerful you are telepathically, Allura--”

“Oh no, most of my mental ability is tied up empathically but I can usually manage enough words to make myself clear.”

“Iverson said he was totally silent in that weird bubble of his. Says he can't hear anything outside if he's in it, too. That's why he keeps getting really creepy close to him.”

“It goes to arm's length, Hunk, that's not creepy.” Lance actually sounded a little exasperated. “I stand closer than that to you all the time. I'm closer than that to you _right now_.”

“It's creepy for Commander Iverson.”

“I personally can't see why Gary would _want_ to stand inside the bubble,” he could almost hear Allura shudder, “I put my hand on his shoulder and it felt like I'd been deprived of an entire sense.”

“Technically, you had.” Hunk pointed out.

“And that was only on the edge of it.”

The ceiling height of the tunnel changed, and Shiro couldn't hear them any more. A glance backwards showed him that Haxus, Katie, and Sendak were walking in relative silence. He almost tripped, and muttered an apology to Adam when the Dire caught him.

Adam flashed him a smile that made his stomach do a slow flip. “I promise I won't object to any excuse I get to grab hold of you.”

“Hey, come on, Professor, you're hogging Shiro!” Lance bounded forward to pout at Adam.

“I still haven't gotten to kiss him since he came back,” the Dire pointed out, giving the younger demon a look.

“I know for a fact that I cannot kiss and walk at the same time,” Shiro said hastily.

“Is that a soft no, or a rain check?” Adam's voice was gentle as he released the hunter to walk on his own again.

Shiro gave him a smile and reached up to brush damp dirt from his cheek with his thumb. “Rain check, definitely.” He grinned when Lance made a wordless whining noise. “Right now I think there's a clingy blue demon who requires my attention.”

“Demands,” Lance corrected cheerfully.

“Fair enough,” the Dire raised his hands in surrender, then took hold of one of Curtis', lacing their fingers together.

Shiro offered Lance his arm and sighed when the skinny demon twined himself around it and laced their fingers together. “You still mad at me?”

“Yeah, but also you were ready to throw down with Curtis' nightmare this morning and it was really sweet.” Lance gave him a grin and pulled himself upward quickly to press a kiss to the hunter's cheek. “And I really want you to get all decisive like you were when you kissed me last night. Except naked.”

“I did promise I would drive next time,” the HOPE agent hummed, turning his head in an attempt to plant a kiss on the corner of Lance's mouth.

“Hey, if you're up to kissing and walking at the same time, I think you and Adam have a little bit of an appointment.” The now-shorter man pushed his face away with a laugh.

“I thought you demanded my attention?”

“You can make out with him in his mom van. Curtis can drive. Oh! I'm short enough to drive now! Professor, can I drive your--”

“I've seen your one test flight, Lance. You are not driving my van.” It wasn't the Dire who answered, but his husband. Adam and Shiro exchanged an amused look, but both of them were wise enough not to laugh when the younger demon scowled.

“I'm great in the air!”

“You don't know that, you've never actually been up and your wings aren't for flight.”

“Which is total bullshit, by the way. I want to talk to whoever decided we can't fly here. I have words for them.”

“You ever gone full-body?” Curtis looked over his shoulder and gave Shiro a smirk at the look on his face. “Just all out huge feral bug demon?”

“Come on, it's rude to use terms for your people that are considered slurs in mixed company, babe,” the Guardian's fingers squeezed his husband's.

“You called yourself a 'red man' five times on the first day of class, Professor,” Lance pointed out without hesitation.

“It's an improvement to what he called himself as a cadet,” the older demon gave Adam a grin when the Dire groaned.

“Am I allowed to know?”

“I am too polite to say it.” Curtis flicked his free hand through the short fluff of his hair.

“Bullshit you are, babe, you just used a slur yourself.”

“I am not First Nations anything, so I am not going to say it.”

“You're going to make me tell him, aren't you.”

“No one has ever made you do anything you didn't agree to in your whole ass life, Qochata. But he'll probably whine if you don't.” His husband wrinkled his nose at him.

The were let out a long-suffering sigh. “I guess I'll have to live with his whining then.”

“It's okay, Professor, a lot of people deal with their internalized self-hatred as teenagers by referring to themselves with racist slurs and insults. I don't need to know.” Lance shrugged and smiled when Adam raised both eyebrows.

The Dire gestured to Lance and half-shrugged at Curtis as though asking a question. The older Cuban rolled his eyes and shook his head. “First of all, he was twenty-two when I met him, and second of all, shut up your freaking brain, _tatam_ , I am not the only telepath here.”

“Is mind-reading a typical demon trait?” Shiro asked, then glanced sideways at Lance. “Genuinely not something mentioned in my classes.” The addition was a little hasty, but he relaxed a little when Lance gave him a smile.

“It probably was and you weren't paying attention that day,” the younger demon bumped his shoulder gently against Shiro's, “because telepathy is how we form hives. All the drones link in to become extensions of the hive head. Numerically speaking, most demons live their whole lives that way. Each drone gives themselves to expand the abilities of the hive head, and that's how they gain power. Usually drones stay within their breeding line, their hive head either sires them or is a direct ancestor, but sometimes hives fight and the winning hive head does whatever they want with the loser's drones.”

“That part I remember. I thought it was chemical, though, like--” he managed to snap his teeth together before the word came out of his mouth and stared at both demons in a mild panic.

Curtis' smile was a little chilly and oversweet. “Like bugs?”

Lance patted Shiro's bicep. “Yeah, it's telepathy, big guy. And no, I've never gone full bug. Have you?”

“My husband turns into a wolf the size of our van and isn't vers,” Shiro could see both of Curtis' brows raise politely as Adam blushed furiously behind him, “sometimes full bug is a survival mechanism.”

“ _Curtis!_ ” Adam pulled his husband forward at a faster pace as Curtis laughed in delight.

Shiro wasn't sure if Adam's mortified gurgling or his own choked intrigue was louder. He felt Lance squeeze his hand and shot him an embarrassed glance. “I could try?” The skinny man suggested with a smile, and Shiro gave his hand a little tug to pull Lance against his side, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his hair.

“I promise you, if you go full demon for sex I will do my absolute best to wreck the hell out of you.” He whispered hoarsely.

“Hm.” Lance tipped his face up to give him a grin. “Can you do it with the Cerberus?”

“You need to be less perfect right now.” His hand slid from Lance's shoulder to the curve of his ass, which he was delighted to discover now fit nicely into his palm.

“I don't think that's really what you want,” was the giggled reply.

He was so wrapped up in the soft moment, the easy intimacy of Lance settled against his side and their conversation, he hadn't noticed they were approaching the entrance of the maintenance tunnel. The final turn into the direct light of the setting sun blinded him momentarily. The color was strange.

He felt Adam slam into him as he heard the breath leave Lance's lungs in a quiet “oof,” and then his head hit the ground and all he could hear was the ringing in his ears. He felt his wolf separate and followed from that perspective instead. All three noses smelled the familiar mixture of blood and demon ichor. Lance was beneath Curtis, beside him and Adam. He couldn't see either demon's face.

A shadow passed over the entrance. He raised his heads to snarl. The gryphon ignored him, tucking his wings and barreling into all four of them on the floor, shoving them out of direct sight of the entrance. It was his blood the wolf smelled. One pair of eyes saw it, like fire down one muscled front leg, from a wound up at his shoulder.

“Shake it off, idiot, people are shooting at us!” James' voice shook him from his daze.

His human flesh was still stunned, so he gripped its arm carefully in one narrow mouth to pull it back further to safety. He lifted his head when the light dimmed again, but it was the gryphon taking a protective position by the corner. He looked over his shoulder at Katie and Allura; both were tucked safely behind Sendak and Haxus, and themselves restraining Hunk, who was—screaming?

Lance.

His attention snapped to the two demons prone on the floor. Adam was pulling Curtis into his lap as though his husband were made of glass. The low howl from the Dire's throat made his human bones hurt. The ichor was everywhere, coating both of them. None of the six eyes present could tell which of them had been hit. All three heads shook sharply. All four heads shook--

Shiro snapped upright and gestured the wolf to stand beside James as he crawled over beside Adam. It sat beside the bleeding creature and started to howl its rage out at the sand and their attacker. The Dire was covered in the thick, dark ichor demons had instead of blood. He cradled Curtis' head in his lap. The wide eyes were open and unseeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	26. The Weight of the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race to get the wounded back to Dryreef. An assassin is found.

He filed the grief away for later, tucked the rage under his tongue, and slid his arm under Lance's shoulders, lifting him gently into his lap to begin checking him for wounds. The younger demon coughed and groaned in pain—Shiro felt himself breathe again. Color returned to the world. Lance had a gushing gash across his scalp, though whether it was from the fall to the ground or if the bullet had gone through Curtis and grazed him was unclear. “You're hurt,” he informed Lance quietly, shakily, “you're gonna be okay, but you should stay still until we can get out of here.”

The small, negative sound Lance made sounded like a faintly insectile buzz. Lance rolled out of his lap and reached for Curtis. Shiro helped him half-sit up to touch the other demon's shoulder. The small sound came again. Adam couldn't stop stroking back Curtis' stained hair. Shiro didn't understand the words he was now hoarsely whispering, but he figured they were probably Hopi.

James' voice came from the doorway again. Gryphon speech patterns didn't convey grief, but Shiro could hear the rage matching what sat in his mouth and roared from his wolf. “Guardian, we have to get to the cars. There's a RAD storm coming.”

Adam slowly lifted his head. Shiro felt himself start to crumble at the numb look on his face and shoved it aside. “Come on, Adam,” he said gently, “we have to get to safety.”

The Dire nodded and looked back down at his husband's too-still face. “ **Ath tuah, u ne aja?** ” He whispered, then ducked his head to press a kiss to the ichor-soaked hair. “ **Eribyo fel'om sha, tuah u aja faq'a.** ”

Lance made the small sound again, then leaned down to lay himself across Curtis' chest as though his muffled crying would make the wound there disappear.

Shiro shook his head and looked over at James. “The shooter?”

“Already fleeing the storm. Keith's tracking them--”

“With a RAD storm rolling in?”

“He'll be fine. His dad's old land is in the middle of RAD Zone Four. Holt! We need to get to the van. It's the only vehicle that will hold all of us. Adam's not--”

“Yeah. All of us would weigh down even the van too much to outrun the storm,” she gently released Hunk, who dove to his knees beside Lance and Adam to wrap his friend up in his arms. Lance's wailing grew louder as soon as he was touched, but he fell into the embrace willingly. “Sendak, Haxus, Lu, you three need to go to the other side of the hedge. _I'm not asking,_ ” she added, when Allura straightened herself up, “get going so you won't be in the way. Taka, get the Dire on his feet. Hunk will carry Lance but Adam can walk and you can guide him.”

He couldn't stop the way his eyes dropped to Curtis' too-still form.

“I'm sorry,” she said evenly, “but we have to move too fast to carry him. James can barely stand so I can't sling him across his back and my carrying people depends a lot on them being able to hold themselves in because I'm tiny.” She met Adam's low snarl with an expressionless heliodor gaze. “I will not hesitate to compel you, Guardian. Dryreef still has need of you. Curtis does not.”

Shiro carefully touched Adam's arm as the momentary fight left the blond, both of them leaning on each other a little as they stood. He didn't see the fae depart, but he felt the token against his skin pulse and knew they were gone. Allura safe was a comfort to his sore heart, if a small one. James limped out of the way as they moved forward, and the wolf scouted the path to the vehicles, circling them to ensure they were safe.

The sunset was too many shades of blue and noxious purple. Shiro felt the colors burn a fear into him that he had managed to forget. Those colors meant death for certain, to all of them—possibly even Katie. He tightened his arm around Adam and started to run for the van. He heard Hunk's feet pounding into the sand behind him and wondered if he should thank the Samoan for the strangely solid footing. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him Katie half-carrying, half-dragging Curtis to the entrance to let the RAD storm take his body. The surge of satisfaction knowing the assassin would never know if their shot had landed was bittersweet.

The van unlocked when Adam grabbed the handle, and Shiro bundled the Dire into the spaciously empty back. Hunk settled Lance in with them and headed around the van to the driver's seat. Katie was right behind him, launching herself into the passenger side and leaning forward to gauge the speed of the storm. “Thirty seconds before this spot gets hit,” she told the Samoan, who grunted and started up the engine, immediately throwing the van in drive and gunning it towards the city. There was surprisingly little inertia for as quickly as Shiro saw the world outside the windows accelerate.

Shiro trusted them to get them to safety, focusing on the two men each half in his lap. He lifted his hand to touch Lance's hair and shivered from the sudden chill when the demon flinched. “ **Kaddatso ne e'aja,** ” he whispered, and shook his head slightly when Adam touched his knee. “I don't understand,” he repeated in English, “the Divine are supposed to be effectively--”

“He's not the only Cerberus HOPE employs,” Katie said from the front, tracking the storm in her side mirror, “they must have called in another one when they realized he was getting emotionally involved here.”

Lance slowly lifted his eyes. Shiro leaned back a little at the way his normally-comforting blue glow had take over his sclera and looked cracked. “You mean--”

“Yes, Lance,” she snapped, “I mean my brother almost certainly called in the hit that killed Curtis. Now stop frosting up the windows or Hunk won't be able to see.” Shiro heard the small, hitched breath she took and wished he could hold her, too.

Adam slowly raised his head, one hand reaching out to twine his fingers with Lance's. Shiro winced, seeing the chill of Lance's touch war with the Dire's natural healing ability. “Dryreef is the only place close enough with the right shielding to protect from a storm of this magnitude,” he sounded as though all the life had drained out of him, and Shiro worried for a moment that Curtis might have reached for his husband's energy in the moment of his death, “the assassin will be there.”

“The city's huge, though, Adam,” Hunk glanced briefly into the rearview mirror, “how are we going to find him?”

“James said Keith's tracking him. We've already found him.”

“Oh shit—James. Is he--” Shiro looked around the van in alarm, just realizing the gryphon hadn't gotten in with them.

“Used our speed to get airborne,” Katie pointed vaguely upward, “he'll beat us to the shield and keep the way open as long as he can. Each major road into the city has a separate arch gate in the shield, so they can stay open for stragglers until the last possible moment.”

“Good design,” Shiro nodded, starting to feel a little numb himself.

“Holt design,” Adam said quietly, “they aren't all monsters.”

“Just Matt.” Lance added flatly. The cracked blue glow in his eyes hadn't faded, but Adam's hand in his had stopped blanching from the cold. Shiro saw Katie's head turn slightly, but she stayed quiet.

“There's the gate,” Hunk announced, a little too loudly but with a lot of relief.

“Good, because the storm's picking up speed. James is gonna have to get the shield up right on our bumper for it to initialize in time.” Shiro felt the tires transition onto pavement and swayed with the relief already flooding him.

The back end of the van made a horrendous noise when the shield sheared it off, and Shiro watched in horror as the now-severed back doors immediately disappeared into a swirl of sand and noxiously blue-purple radiation. The back of the van suddenly seemed exponentially smaller as whatever spell had expanded the inside vanished with a flicker of red. He clutched Lance and Adam both more tightly and braced them as Hunk slowed the van to a stop. He heard the flap of wings, James half-crashing through his landing, and then the gryphon came to the back end, beak open in pain. “Sorry,” he managed, upon seeing the three in the back, “I panicked.”

“Nick!” Lance launched himself from Shiro's lap to catch the enormous creature as he stumbled. “Nicky, holy crow, I can see your bones in there. How--”

“I tried to stop it. I wasn't fast enough, Adam I'm sorry--”

Shiro grunted as the Dire also vaulted to James' side, shifting midair and landing neatly on the pavement beside him in his enormous wolf form. Shiro's numb mind took in the patchy patterns of blonde and darker tans, the dark eyebrow markings over the golden-brown eyes, the heavy paws easily the size of his torso, and swallowed hard. Adam wedged his front end under the gryphon's chest and grumbled until James got his back legs draped over his hips with Lance's help. Once the gryphon was positioned and had carefully dug what claws he could into the thick fur, the Dire headed down the street with him without a backward glance.

“He'll get him to a healer,” Hunk said, having exited the van and gently taking one of Lance's hands, “you should see one, too.”

“No, I need--”

“You're not going to kill a trained assassin in this condition,” his friend said briskly. “Back in the van with you. It'll still run, it just won't fit as much without the spell.” He shooed Lance around to the passenger side and buckled him in as Katie came around the back and helped Shiro out.

They stood and watched the broken van drive off without speaking, listening to the storm rage against the shield behind them and far over their heads. The sky had darkened enough that the streetlights were starting to come on. “How do we find Keith without phones?” He finally asked quietly. “Storm takes them down, right?”

She gave him a long look. Her eyes were still the hard gemstone yellow, and she didn't seem to notice the blood sliding from her nose and over her lips. “We're not looking for Keith.”

He nodded slowly and turned towards HOPE's offices, wondering if he would be able to stomach any of the answers Matt offered them, or if the Earthbound would bother answering them at all. “It's a long walk,” he noted quietly, “maybe let your powers rest a little.”

“Bleeding?” She asked without turning her head.

“Pretty steadily. Headache?”

“Terrible. I didn't call this up though, so it's taking me a little bit to figure out how to put it back and uh. The constant popping sounds of blood vessels in my brain isn't helping my concentration.” She glanced over at the brush of fur against her hand, and smiled when the wolf worked his shoulder under her palm. It only took a few more steps for the yellow of her eyes to fade. When she looked over at him, the whites of her eyes were bloodshot and seeped red where some of the vessels had burst. “Thanks, Taka.”

“Just because Matt is how we met doesn't mean he's where my loyalties lie, Katie,” he told her quietly, “you do know that, don't you?”

She nodded, wiping at her nose with her shirt. “I know, Taka. I remember the joke.”

“That's right. I may have been Matt's bitch, but I'm your dog.” He settled his hand on her hair as the wolf nuzzled her leg. “We've known that since before I knew I was a Cerberus. Hasn't changed.”

Her laugh into her shirt sounded a little wet, and he used the hand on her hair to gently steer her against his side so he could guide them both safely down the street. “Lance is never going to talk to me again without being mad,” she whispered, and he scooped her up as she started to cry, “a-and Matt's _using_ me like a weapon, like a-a _thing_ , and Curtis--” She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as though she were still the child he still sometimes saw, and sobbed against his tunic.

The wolf looked up at him, and he sighed into Katie's hair. It was really going to be a long walk.

It ended up being about three blocks before Gary's dull white sedan pulled up in front of them and blocked traffic. He raised a hand to the car behind him—the driver lifted a hand in acknowledgment—and opened the back driver's door. Shiro slid in with Katie cradled against his chest without a word, but he hoped the look he gave the telepath properly conveyed his gratitude. He didn't notice the way Iverson's lashes were clumped with tears until he got a better look at his face in the reflection of the rearview mirror.

“You heard?” He asked quietly.

“Everyone with half an ounce of telepathy or telempathy knows,” the Commander confirmed, letting out a breath of relief when Shiro leaned forward to touch his shoulder, “Keith's not the only one looking for the bastard. The whole Garrison's on a hunt. Guards at all the facing gates are being grilled for identities on stragglers.”

Katie lifted her head. “More people are going to die,” she whispered, “everyone else is just going to see Dryreef going mad. They'll get scared.”

“There's already been three lynchings we've had to put a stop to,” Iverson sighed, “half of my men want to get in on them, string up anyone they find suspicious. Razavi wanted to drag them to a smaller gate and herd them out into the storm.”

“Nadia's always been a favorite of mine,” Katie murmured, laying her head back down on Shiro's shoulder.

“Atrillo has her sedated right now. We cannot afford this as a city, Holt. As a Sanctuary.”

“Should we have stayed out there and let the storm take us then?” She asked tiredly. “No one would have ever found out that Curtis didn't die from it. HOPE would have their cover up.” Shiro felt the tic of a bitter smile against his tunic. “Matt's grand scheme would have been ruined.”

“We have bigger problems than your brother right now, Pidge,” Iverson said gently, “he's going to have to wait.”

“I've been telling you not to call me that for a decade, Gary.”

“I figured you could stand to hear it from someone you don't currently consider an enemy.”

She let it pass without further comment. “So where are we going?”

“To find Keith. Phil, I need my powers back.” He glanced into the mirror and visibly braced himself as Shiro lifted his hand. He took an abrupt left and muttered an apology as his passengers scrambled to keep from sliding. Shiro saw a tear slip down his cheek and tried to focus on not letting his own grief up from behind the rage he kept chewing in his mouth. He took a moment to be grateful that his emotions weren't affecting Gary. He was having a hard enough time controlling them himself.

The car pulled into a spot in a city park and Shiro squinted at the expanse of green. “Wh--”

“We have greenthumbs here,” Katie reminded him with a nudge, “and a few dryads. The water for the park stays in the park. They have a spell that makes it its own mini biome.” She slid from his lap and out of the car, then helped him out and patted his hand. “Let's go find Keith.”

“This can't be ecologically healthy,” he muttered, but he followed her and Gary into the thick riot of green.

It was like stepping into a tropical rainforest. He was instantly soaked from the humidity and not entirely certain he hadn't seen a spider the size of a labrador skitter back under some leaves. He hurried to walk a little closer to Katie and Gary. “I already miss the desert, and it's only eight steps away,” he whispered.

Gary shot him a faint smile over his shoulder, and Shiro selfishly thanked the humidity for hiding the tearstains on the man's cheeks. They had been hard for him to bear. He kept on high alert for sounds, hand reaching for his weapon—only to realize that Zarkon had never given it back to him. He grit his teeth and searched himself for something he could use. The sharp piece of quartz from Lance was the closest he had. He clutched it and readied himself to call his wolf.

He almost shoved it into Keith's ribs when the man dropped silently from the branches between him and Katie. The two of them hugged very tightly for a moment, then Keith looked up at Gary and tipped his head. He held up two fingers, then pointed to Shiro, then to his own eyes.

Shiro called up his wolf and pointed in question.

Keith shook his head and released Katie to cup Shiro's face in one hand. The other passed over his features, then pulled back, held up two fingers, and jerked its thumb over his shoulder.

The hunter's heart sank. “Wait here,” he whispered, sliding past Keith to peer through the leaves.

There was a small clearing on the other side, with lovely living benches and a young man sitting in the gravel by the roots of one, carefully pushing the small yellowish stones around with the tip of a silvery knife Shiro knew all too well. “You can come out, Kash,” the young man called, lifting his head, “I know you're there.” His voice had a softer surface than Shiro's, as though the edges had all been carefully buffed away, but other than that, it was identical. His long black hair was held back in a ponytail, and his bangs hung white along the side of a face a little younger than what Shiro saw in the mirror every day.

“Where's Ryou, V?” Shiro asked, shoulder slumping as he pushed past the leaves into the clearing.

“Stealing your friend's car. He didn't tell me where he was going after that. Did the bullet hit? Is the target down?” He offered Shiro the knife as his older brother approached, and folded his hands in his lap after Shiro took it.

Shiro let out a shaky sigh. “When did you join HOPE?”

“A couple of years after you did. We're not as strong as you, but when we work together, we can get the job done. Is the target down?”

“No, V,” Shiro felt the grief threaten to break free again, his eyes stung with tears as his little brother frowned up at him, “it missed. Grazed one innocent and killed another.”

“We knew about the gryphon. Ryou said he'd be okay. I felt the drain, though. We had to have hit the target, we felt the drain.”

“Lance wasn't the only demon in Dryreef,” Keith's voice was rough and hard, and Shiro felt himself tense.

Vorash's expression cleared. “Then we didn't hit an innocent,” he concluded mildly, “we hit another demon.”

Shiro caught Keith as the Extrahuman lunged forward and winced as he felt the heavy teeth snap closed an inch from his intact shoulder. “It's not that simple, V—Katie will you please--”

“He killed Curtis, Shiro!”

“He's my baby brother, Keith.”

“He _killed Curtis!_ ”

Vorash looked confused, studying first Keith, then Katie, and finally Gary as the Commander emerged. “We killed a demon,” he said, puzzled, “once we get the other one, you'll be safe.”

Shiro shot Gary a pleading look, and the telepath snapped his fingers in front of Keith's face. “HOPE's got him brainwashed, like they had Phil. You don't blame a gun for someone else pulling the trigger. _HOPE_ killed Curtis.”

“Matt killed Curtis,” Katie said savagely.

Keith jerked liked she'd slapped him and went ash white. Shiro was suddenly holding him up instead of back. “What?!”

“It's a long conversation. Apparently we can have it on the walk to the hospital, because Taka's other little brother stole Gary's car.”

“My bike can carry all of us, it just won't be comfortable,” Keith leaned heavily against Shiro and rubbed at his face.

“You willing to let Gary man the yoke?”

“Yeah, I don't think I wanna be driving for this conversation. What do we do with _him?_ ” He jerked his chin at Vorash, who watched them with only mild curiosity.

“V, why did Ryou leave you behind?”

The mild grey eyes dropped, and the faint frown returned. “He knew you wouldn't let anyone hurt me, Kash, but he wasn't sure if you'd protect him the same.”

Shiro wasn't sure how his heart had any breaking left in it. “So you gave him time to steal Gary's car.”

“I'm very sorry about that,” Vorash told Gary softly, “I'm sure he'll be very careful with it, and leave it somewhere it can be found and returned to you.”

Iverson shook his head and stepped forward to put a hand on Shiro. “I need to be sedated,” he told the Cerberus, voice strained, “my ability's getting overwhelmed.”

“Keep a hand on me until we can get you to the hospital, okay?” They shared a nod and Shiro carefully released Keith. “Let's get to your bike, kiddo. Come on, V. You're coming with us.”

“Are you going to make Ryou fight you and your friends to get me back, Kash?” Vorash obediently stood and brushed himself off. Shiro was absurdly pleased to see that his quiet little brother now matched him in height and outweighed him a little in muscle tone.

“I've never been able to make Ryou do anything.” Shiro followed Keith and Katie back into the brush, one hand on his brother's shoulder and making sure that Gary's hand stayed clenched in his tunic.

The hoverbike hardly kicked its engine in protest at the weight of all the people on it, and Shiro settled his cheek against Gary's back as the bigger man guided them through the streets. Vorash held tightly to his waist, and Katie and Keith perched on the back wearing the only helmets, which Shiro assumed had some kind of built-in communication headsets. He saw Katie grip Keith's waist several times as they drove.

By the time they arrived at the hospital and unloaded from the hoverbike, Keith's face was wet with tears and red. He shoved the helmet into Katie's hands and went inside without them. She looked tired to Shiro, and much, much older than her twenty-one years. She gave him a look as he watched her secure the helmets. “That's _my_ baby brother,” she reminded him, then closed her eyes and shook her head. “Right now he feels like my only brother. Let's go check on Lance and James.”

Vorash perked up slightly and leaned forward, but the look Katie gave him made him pop right back to his position slightly behind Shiro.

The desk nurse recognized Gary and ushered them all back, Keith snarling quietly as he followed them. Katie and Keith broke off to check on Lance and James, but Shiro stayed with Gary until the nurses had an IV drip of a powerful sedative in his arm. He tucked the blanket in firmly around the telepath's shoulders and kissed his forehead. “I'll try to be here when you wake up,” he promised quietly. The drowsy smile he got in response eased a little of his heartache.

Right up until he saw Adam sitting outside James' room.

The Dire looked up slowly, then got to his feet and walked over as though all of his bones were made of lead. “Is this him?” He asked softly.

He opened his mouth to try to ask for leniency, to beg Adam to remember how HOPE had twisted him, but the words fled his mind at the dull hue of those flat brown eyes. “One of them. They're only...Divine-killers as a pair.”

“Little dogs,” the corner of Adam's mouth twitched. “Well, little dog. Come see what you've wrought.” He turned and led them down the hall.

Shiro heard Keith's voice rising from James' room.

“What did you think your hollow little bird bones were going to do? They couldn't stop a mosquito, much less a bullet! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” James' voice managed to sound very placid, and Shiro wondered what kind of painkillers they had him on, “that you would be very upset if Lance got killed.”

The statement was followed with a kind of breathless silence, then. “You're a fucking _idiot_ , Griffin. Kinkade's going to take this out of my ass.”

“You wish, nancy boy.”

“Oh my god the drugs gave you access to insults from past lives.”

“Hey,” Lance's voice came from the same room, and Shiro felt himself try to push past Adam's shoulder—the Dire gripped his wrist and he stopped with a stifled whine, “do you guys mind keeping it down? I have like the world's worst headache and this anti-telepathy sedative they gave me is not meant for demons. And I, for one, would _love_ for Kinkade to take things out of my ass. Or put things in it. Or both, ideally.”

“You know you're too skinny to be his type,” James' voice was still very calm.

“A boy can dream. Adam, it's okay to come in.”

“I didn't want to add to your headache,” the Dire said quietly.

“You're standing in Shiro's bubble, I can't hear you. I'd imagine it's a...pretty big relief for every mental receiver in the Sanctuary, and not just me.” Lance's attempt at a smile felt like a barrier holding them in the doorway had been opened, and the three all but spilled in. The demon held his hand out, and Adam took it, still holding Shiro's wrist. “Oh, there's the blessed creepy silence.”

Shiro looked over his shoulder at Vorash, who stood at the foot of Lance's bed and stared down at him with an expression that looked like he'd been stabbed in the stomach. The younger hunter carefully touched one of Lance's feet under the pinkish-beige blanket with a trembling hand.

Curious, Lance looked him over. After a minute, he held out his other hand. Vorash rounded the bed and took it without a word. The demon studied him carefully, then lifted the hand he held to the bandage on his head. “Twenty-two stitches,” he told the hunter clearly, “and I'm lucky. That bullet of yours almost took Nicky's leg off. Curt--” he bit his tongue on the name, and Shiro saw how tightly he was gripping Adam's fingers, though his grip on Vorash remained gentle. “Curtis didn't feel it, which I guess is a blessing, but he pushed me out of the way so he knew it was coming. He died for me. He died _on_ me.” His eyes were filling with tears, and Shiro wasn't sure if it was better or worse than the cracked-power look from earlier.

“Adam here, he's Curtis' husband. They have a really nice house with a furnished basement, and they like to take care of people that need it. They provide a safe space for anyone who doesn't feel safe. That's what this place is. Dryreef, this Sanctuary. I was being hunted, and they gave me a home. They protected me. They promised me that they would protect me. And they did. But Curtis shouldn't have had to die for me. Hunting inside a Sanctuary is against the law. HOPE's laws. You had to have known that, because you got the same training as Shiro. You came anyway. Why?”

“We were told the local HOPE agent greenlit the mission,” Vorash couldn't tear himself away from Lance's teary gaze, and there was a part of Shiro fascinated by seeing the demon's charms worked on someone else for once, “it's unusual, but if a Sanctuary's Guardian is unwilling or unable to eliminate a threat, a local HOPE agent can make a case for an exception.”

“Did Shiro tell you we weren't hurting anyone?”

“He didn't tell me anything. He told me that the other—that Curtis, was an innocent.”

“You didn't believe him?”

“I have no basis for the definition of an innocent demon.”

Keith's voice was rough where he sat in a chair by the bed holding James' injured gryphon form. “Curtis was like a big brother to me. He and Adam kept my trophies and ribbons. They came to all of my competitions and always told me they were proud of me. When I dropped out of the Garrison, Adam let me sleep in their spare room for a whole month until I could face my adopted parents. Curtis always made sure he checked in on me and that I ate at least once a day. It was one of the lowest points in my life, and of the three people that were there for me through it, Curtis and Adam were two of them.”

“Curtis dug me a hideout in their back yard when I was fifteen,” Katie added, “like a clubhouse, but it was a cave. He put in a chimney and a little fireplace to cook in and taught me how to make a pallet out of scrap cloth. He gave me Adam's pillow and told me not to tell.”

“I knew,” Adam assured her quietly.

“I used to hide there when the pressure from my parents got to be too much. He never pried, but he always knew I was there and he'd bring me out ingredients from their dinner to cook for myself.” She looked down. “I usually ended up sneaking leftovers from their fridge.”

“Do you hear what we're trying to tell you, Vorash?” Lance asked quietly, not releasing the younger hunter from his gaze even as Vorash jerked at the use of his name. “Curtis was a really, truly good person. _And_ a demon.”

“And he only ever fed from me,” Adam added.

That was enough to shake Vorash free of Lance's gaze, and he turned his head to stare at the Dire. “But you're--”

“Alive,” the blond nodded, “demons actually stopped killing to feed about five hundred years ago. They,” he gave Lance a little smile, “they had a whole civil war about it.”

“There are things I've learned here in Dryreef that HOPE never taught us, V,” Shiro told his brother softly, “not just about demons, but about how Sanctuaries work.”

His brother dropped his eyes, frowning. “Did we kill an innocent man, Kash?”

“Yes, V, you did.” He watched his brother sit slowly in the chair beside Lance's bed and wondered if Vorash had even noticed that Lance was holding his hand.

“How do I,” the pauses in his speech were softer than Shiro's, hesitations rather than the stop-and-go way that Shiro fumbled with expressing himself, “how do I ever make up for that?”

“Stick with me,” Lance told him quietly, squeezing his hand, “we'll figure something out.”

Shiro braced himself for backlash against the statement, prepared to lunge forward and grab Adam, but the Dire bent down and placed a delicate kiss on Lance's bandage. Even Keith didn't dare voice an objection after that. “I'm going to go home for a while, Lance,” he told the demon softly, “do you need anything?”

“Please take Shiro with you to uhm. Shield the rest of us from your emotions?”

“Of course.” He squeezed the demon's fingers, then released his hand and straightened up. “Let's go then, Takashi.”

“Could I uh.” He gestured that he and the were switch places, then leaned over to press his forehead against Lance's. “I have a lot of feelings to process, too,” he whispered, eyes crossing a little as his gaze caught on the freckles hidden in the dark skin.

“Adam will understand,” Lance promised, tipping his head to give him a quick kiss, “and maybe later somebody can explain to me why he's being super creepily calm.”

“Heard that,” Adam murmured.

“Great, it can be you.” He kissed Shiro again. “Make sure he cries some,” he hummed, “this can't be healthy.”

“Still hear you.”

“Yeah, that was for both of you.” Lance waved Shiro off. “I'll take care of Vorash. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to your baby brother.”

“Thanks, Lance.” He gave the demon a soft smile and stepped back, looking at his brother. “You do what Lance tells you to, okay, V?”

“Okay, Kash.”

Lance watched them go, then smiled at Vorash as the quiet Cerberus' attention refocused on him. “So, let's talk about how to fix this.”

Vorash stared into cracked solid blue eyes and smiled, squeezing his hand. “Anything you want, Lance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ath tuah, u ne aja?"--Promised you, did I not?
> 
> "Eribyo fel'om sha, tuah u aja faq'a."--Watch him be killed again, you did not have to.


	27. Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vorash attends Lance's needs and has a meeting with an ally.

The RAD storm lasted four days, and Vorash had been busy. He found it was easiest to get people to trust him if he told them he was working to find justice for Curtis, and with Adam firmly in Takashi's 'bubble,' the rage and violence in the psychic community was abating. He shifted the canvas bags on his shoulder to the chair in the hospital room and bent down to press his face to Lance's hair. “I've found everything on the list, but some of these books are pretty fringe theory,” he told the demon, straightening up to pull out a small restaurant box and set it in front of him, “I think some of them read some of the others, a few of the spells looked about the same when I leafed through them.”

The power-cracked eyes lifted to him only briefly before settling on the canvas bags. “You went through them?”

He ducked his head a little and thought of nothing in particular. He saw Lance's nose crinkle out of the corner of his eye. “Just enough to make sure they were the kind of thing you were looking for,” the assassin reassured, rolling the table over Lance's lap and making no move to retrieve any other results of his shopping trip until the demon picked up the plastic fork and took a bite. “I didn't want you to waste your time.” He smiled a little at the demon's giggle and offered one of the smaller books. The smile on the thin lips softened after a moment.“I didn't bother with any of the ones that went out of their way to look like they were books on advanced magics. Those are usually coffee table paperweights as far as useful spellcraft goes. Same with copies from major publications; they don't want to run the risk of publishing something that reaches too far into the weave and get shut down, so most of that is little blessings and inconvenience hexes.”

He glanced over at the other bed, where the gryphon rested fit fully, and quietly borrowed the chair from beside James' bed to sit in. “Where's Keith? He usually comes in for lunch.”

“Nicky's parents came in this morning, security had to escort Keith off of hospital grounds. He's technically not allowed back until tomorrow, so he'll probably sneak in after dinner. Nicky's sedated.” Lance took a slurp of the drink from his meal and hummed. “Cherry limeade, yes. Good choice.” He flashed the man a smile without raising his eyes from the book.

“Sedated? What happened?”

“Oh, Nicky's parents are living three hundred years ago at the height of homophobia,” Lance's fingers shook slightly as he turned a page in the book, “his father indicated Curtis getting killed was some kind of universal retribution for him being queer. Keith went for his face, Nicky moved to restrain him, tore open some stitching, everybody got kicked out and Nicky got sedated.” He was quiet for a few moments, turning another page while Vorash frowned at his shaking hands. “Personally I think Nicky's life would be a whole hell of a lot better if someone put those assholes in the ground.”

Vorash pressed his lips together, looking over his shoulder at the unconscious gryphon and then back to the demon. Lance was peering at him from under the now-ragged fluff of his hair, the blue of his eyes glowing even in the room's afternoon light. The demon's scalp twitched faintly; his eyes narrowed. “After,” he suggested softly, “he'll need someone like you told me Curtis was to lean on after something like that. Won't he?”

He was rewarded with another soft smile, and Lance took another bite of his meal. He flexed the hand not holding the fork against the pages of the small book. “You're learning. I knew you could understand other peoples' needs pretty quickly without Ryou constantly shielding you from being interacted with.”

“He was--”

“Just trying to protect you, I know. So was Shiro when he was arbitrarily killing Extrahumans left and right.”

Vorash looked down at his hands, then retrieved his own lunch from the bags and picked at it with his fork. “It wasn't arbitrary,” he finally informed the demon quietly, “Japan is full of vampires.” He cleared his throat a little when he heard Lance's page-turning stop, but couldn't bring himself to look the other man in the eye. He refocused his thoughts. “The non-HOPE hunters there, they're a lot better organized, too. Not all of our vampires are kinds that...live well in a society.”

“What's that place?” Lance asked quietly. “I see that carpet in your thoughts, sometimes. Usually with images of your ex and...their husband?”

His head could not have jerked up any faster if it had been on fishing line. “My—oh, no, no no, that's my teacher. Their name is Rei. Uh, that is their husband, though, yes, his name is Jun. I thought you were trying not to read my mind all the time? Not that I object, I just don't want you to tire yourself.”

“Sometimes intrusive thoughts are loud enough for everyone in the room to hear,” Lance admitted, “I'm mostly trying not to. You think about your teacher a lot. And their neck.”

“Well, they married a vampire, so.”

The following silence was awkward. Lance cleared his throat. “So. Feral nests?”

He shook his head to clear it; he saw Lance flinch and go pale, and thought of nothing in particular.“And angry queens. The hills offer them great places to hide. Some of them are even semi-aquatic, they hunt from the shallows around the little islands.”

“Like sirens?” The question was muted, but pointed.

Slightly lifted fingers acknowledged the verbal sally. “Without the lure. Most of them are ambush predators, anyway. Kash couldn't be around to keep us safe all the time, and when one of our classmates got taken to be a thrall on her way home from school, he started hunting them. It wasn't long after he got mugged, so I guess the combination of stressors--” He let out a soft huff of breath, shaking his head again. “It's not an excuse. He killed a lot of vampires who lived well within the law.”

“And if he had gotten killed, he wouldn't have been there to protect the two of you, anyway.” Lance noted, attention returning to his book.

“He did get killed. A few times. Where do you think he got all those heads?”

“I thought Cerberi got new heads from hurting themselves.”

“Throwing yourself stupidly into danger is a form of self-harm,” Vorash felt his tone turn dry, and started to apologize, but the smile the demon gave him silenced that instinct. He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I guess that counts to our abilities, too.”

“There's the attitude I knew you had in there.” Lance found something of interest on one of the pages and leaned in closer to peer at it, pursing his lips in concentration. He didn't even glance up when Vorash dug through the bags again and set a pack of adhesive highlight tabs by his hand. “Hey, how hard is it to get a hold of a harpy queen's claws?”

“I have no idea, but I do know there's a harpy congress in the area. I can try to find someone to ask.” Vorash leaned forward to nudge Lance's lunch a little, and the demon absently began eating again. “If you make a list of ingredients for the spells you want to try, I can probably track them down. Marnie says you're being released tomorrow, we can find a safe place to try.”

Lance carefully marked the page and straightened up from the slump he'd taken, finally looking at his companion again and reaching towards his face. Vorash took his hand and leaned forward to settle his cheek in Lance's palm. “From big bad HOPE assassin to gophering for a demon,” the Cuban murmured, “how do you not resent that at all?” He stroked his thumb rhythmically over the man's cheekbone.

“If someone died to save my life, I would have killed their murderer without a second thought,” Vorash shook his head, then pressed a kiss to Lance's palm, the demon smelled slightly sweet, “you've all been so forgiving, understanding. And I--” His face pulled into a frown. He looked puzzled. “I would do anything for you, Lance.”

“Hey,” Lance tilted his head up, smiling, and Vorash lost his confusion in the glowing blue gaze, “everything's gonna be okay. We'll fix it, right?” His thumb ran over the curve of the Japanese man's lower lip.

“Of course we will,” he breathed. After a moment of staring adoringly into the demon's eyes, he shook himself and laughed, releasing Lance's hand. “We're not going to get very far at fixing it if we don't eat,” he lifted his salad in a slight salute.

“Right, right. Food is important. Fuel the healing process. Now I want coconut though, and that's entirely your fault.” Lance's face darkened, and he scowled as he shoved another bite in his mouth. “I'd heal faster if the nurses weren't such anti-sex cops.” He said it loudly enough for Geoffrey to hear as the nurse bustled in.

“I know, we're terrible. But this is an intensive care ward, Atrillo, not a bordello.” Geoffrey picked up his chart and flipped through it carefully, then nodded. “You're still on track for release tomorrow. Your blood pressure's just about back in the safe range for your head trauma. Still a little high, though.”

“Well, I did get shot in the head, it's a little stressful.”

“Mind your teeth, Lance, I've had a day,” Geoffrey chided, crossing over to James' bed and checking his chart. As he bent to check the gryphon's stitches, the soft padding of a bandage became visible beneath the hem of his scrub top.

Lance sat up a little straighter. “What happened?”

“It's only about fifteen stitches, I'm fine.”

“It looks like someone tried to go for your kidneys.”

“If that's what they were after, they do not know where humans keep our kidneys.” The nurse looked up to Lance and sighed. “Put the rage eyes away, I really am fine. Mostly got my love handle. My wife's going to be really glad I haven't been trying to change my diet. Someone roughed up one of the weres, must have used a silver coated blade, because his healing abilities weren't kicking in and the edges of the wound were black. We had to cut the infected tissue away for him to heal. He broke one of the restraints and got a few scratches in. I'm fine.”

“He didn't bite anyone?”

“Never even reached for his muzzle. He was mad with pain, but he knew we were trying to help. He wasn't trying to kill anyone, Lance.”

“He say anything about who attacked him?”

“Got a scent, but no look at the guy. Said he smelled like wet dog.” He shrugged, adding a fresh IV bag of sedatives to James' hooks and removing one that was entirely empty. The second was still half full, so after a quick test squeeze, he left it there. “Now stop playing cop. The storm's dying down. You should be able to work on your project out at the manor house when you check out.”

“What do you know about my project?” Lance scowled. Vorash very carefully set his fork on the edge of his takeout box and sat up a little. The utensil flipped idly in his fingers.

“That you can't practice any of the spells in that book within the city limits. Too much interference.” Geoffrey shrugged. “My wife's one of the water witches that tends the parks. She's in a wheelchair now, but powerful as the day is long. I know books on big magic when I see them.” He gave the both of them a wave as he headed for the door. “Ring if you need me, otherwise I'll be back in two hours.”

Lance lowered the fingers on one hand slowly. Vorash readjusted his grip on his fork and returned to his meal. “What do you think, about the were?”

“It might have been Ryou, looking for Kash.”

“Not looking for you?” A faint tilt to the demon's head, he looked his companion over carefully. His brows were still pulled in a slight frown.

“Ryou always knows where I am.” He shrugged.

“Because you're twins?”

“Because he paid to have a tracking chip put in my neck when we were teenagers.” The assassin gave Lance a small smile at the outrage in his expression. “I make pretty good bait. Always have. People tend to feel more comfortable snatching the meek, quiet ones.”

“You're hardly meek.” Lance eyed him again. “You might want to ask for a new partner anyway, though.”

Vorash flicked his eyes down and to the side, then back up to Lance's face. “I'm very good at faking it, though.” The smile grew as he watched the demon consider this, then nod. “And I really don't enjoy confrontation. I'd rather be tinkering.”

“Is that why there's a book on technomancy in the bags?” Lance grinned at Vorash's surprised look. “I didn't read your mind for that, no. I guessed. I really am trying not to do that continuously. Not one you already had?”

“The bookstores here are very extensive.”

“We have a Tuners' Guild here. They rotate some of their staff through here and they took over one of the old closed hospitals on the other side of the city. Don't think they have a contract with East Reef, though. Never really looked into it. Demons don't really need Tuners.”

“They might have been able to help you with your shifting issue,” Vorash suggested hesitantly.

“At what cost? The last thing I needed was a bunch of overhyped cultist tinker witches pulling apart my metaphysics to see if demons have souls.”

“Tuners aren't allowed in most major cities because of their particular practices,” the other man agreed, “most tinker witches go through yearly psych evals to make sure they aren't getting pulled in. Field agents go through psych evals all the time anyway, so it wasn't like it was any extra nuisance to me.” He had another bite of salad, then sighed. “Do you object to being able to read my mind, Lance?”

“No, it's nice. Shiro's null bubble is creepy as hell. I kind of need the background noise to concentrate, you know? Hate the silence. Besides, who would object to being able to hear how pretty somebody thinks they are?” He cackled at the blush that stained the other man's cheeks. “You have a tendency to lose all track of synonyms and just use 'pretty' in your thoughts, and I love it. I get all the synonyms a lot, and even when it's people's thoughts it feels...practiced. Fake. When you think it, it's like...like Nicky when he sees something shiny. Corvid brain just fixates on 'so pretty,' and it's almost like shouting it. You compare me to beautiful landscapes a lot. Makes me feel like a force of nature.”

“If I were a corvid I would definitely steal you,” Vorash assured him, then made a face at himself and half-hid behind his food.

“I don't think I'd fit in your pocket,” those cracked-power eyes were locked on him again, and Vorash didn't mind that he couldn't look away. Lance's pupils contracted; his fingers tightened on the book he held.

“I'm pretty sure getting you in my pants wouldn't be the hard part,” Vorash could feel the back of his neck heat up at the way Lance's eyes slid down his body. His gaze lingered on the hunter's knees.

The demon tilted his head, mouth pulling to the side in a crooked smile. “Maybe a little hard.” He gave a hard blink and dropped his fork to grab the rolling table in front of him. “Whoa. Is that dizzy spell you or my head wound?”

“Eat your pasta,” was the mumbled reply, which earned him a soft laugh from Lance. They ate in silence, Vorash's blush slowly fading as he crunched through spinach and almond slivers. “Part of it's training, though. They teach us to think of landscapes to make it harder for telepaths to read us. I'm not intentionally trying to block you out, I just think about landscapes a lot as a habit and I'd rather look at you.” He focused on getting a single almond sliver onto his fork. “Hey, Lance?”

“Yeah babe?” The softness in his tone made Vorash's stomach do a slow flip.

He felt his face heat a little again. “Do you know how long after the RAD storm is over that cell service will still be down?”

The demon leaned back a little and looked him over. “He can't track that chip in you without a signal, can he?”

“Well, no, but also I'm worried about him. Ryou tends to be...impulsive. I worry about him a lot when we're apart. If that was him that attacked that were, he did that without backup. It isn't safe.” He pushed a sliver of almond around in a few drops of dressing, frowning.

“Shiro fights Extrahumans without backup all the time.”

Vorash scrunched up his face, and the expression teased a soft chuckle from Lance. “That's _Kash_. He's much better at fighting than either of us. And I don't really like the idea of him doing it, either. But at least I'm assigned as Ryou's partner and can threaten to report him.” He suppressed a shudder.

“Is Shiro supposed to be assigned a partner?” Lance rubbed at his nose as though suppressing a sneeze.

“The organization doesn't actually keep us updated on our brother, so I don't know for sure. All field agents are _supposed_ to have partners, according to protocol.” He slowly lifted his eyes to Lance's face when he felt the demon considering him thoughtfully, and brought to mind nothing in particular.

The cracked-power eyes brought a faint smile to his face. “I don't know the answer to your question, since this is my first RAD storm,” Lance finally told him, then returned the smile, “why don't you pop out to the nurse's station and ask Geoffrey or Marnie? No reason for you to be stuck here worrying and watching me study.”

Vorash closed his empty box with a bright smile and took it to the sink to rinse it before setting it into his vacated chair to dry. “Thank you, Lance. I'll be back soon, I promise.” He hurried from the room and paused at the nurse's station to inquire, offering Marnie a faint smile when she informed him that his phone should be working by this time tomorrow. He thanked the redhead and headed out to the outdoor patio down past the currently-quiet pediatrics ward. Most of the children were in the cafeteria with their parents for lunch, or the much larger outdoor area on the first floor, which had some form of playground.

The patio was empty save for one person tucked in the corner between the building's edge and the railing where he was all but invisible. He didn't turn, but tipped his head as Vorash leaned against the railing beside him. “This is a hell of a cock-up, Shirogane,” the blond was not at all pleased to see him, and eyes that had been a pleasant amber-hazel the last time he had seen them were now frosted over with a hard, pale yellow. “How in the fuck did you manage to shoot the wrong demon? Can your idiot brother not tell the difference between a twenty-three year old and a thirty-one year old?”

“Would you like to start throwing blame, Holt?” Vorash pulled himself up. “Who decided to call in a team to take out one demon and not inform us that there were two? We expended the power to kill the demon we hit. I have to get myself into a position now to take out the actual target, while buying time for us to recover our strength, because _your information was unreliable_.” He dropped his head slightly and scowled. “Demons are kill on sight. That's our standing order. If you had one you wanted spared, you should have kept it out of sight.”

The back of Matt's hand hit his face hard enough to split his lip against his teeth, and Vorash found himself against a concrete planter, ears ringing, with a two-headed square-jawed dog standing between the two of them. He blinked away the echoes of images, focusing on the feeling of the afternoon breeze through his fur.

Holt laughed. “Keep growling, puppy! I've had bigger teeth than yours in my skin lately, and anyway,” he leaned down to poke one dry nose, “you don't have enough heads to do me any damage.”

“You're one birth too soon to be entirely immune to my teeth,” Vorash managed with a faint slur, wiping at his mouth, “even with only two heads.”

“I'm still Divine!” Matt snarled.

Vorash gave him a condescending smile beneath the fall of his bangs. “You're Earthbound,” he corrected softly, “but let's set that aside for now. You want to keep trying to blame me and my brother for this complication? We could always lay the situation out for our superiors and see what they decide. I do despise confrontation.” He sent the two-headed dog away with a flick of his eyes, watching Matt lean back with satisfaction.

“How long will you and your brother need to recover your strength, Orthus?” The blond asked sourly, seething.

“At least a week,” was the mild reply, with a softly pointed, “ _Earthbound_ ,” tacked on to the end. Dull grey eyes stayed locked with yellow-glazed amber-hazel, until Matt finally huffed and turned away. “We would also have appreciated a little more warning as to the target's powers,” he noted, leaning back against the planter tiredly.

“I told you I suspected that he had Takashi under his spell,” one tanned hand gestured faintly.

“Ten seconds into that hospital room and I have the very certain knowledge that I would die permanently for that creature,” Vorash stared up at the sky over the railing, “that is something that should be in his file. Every ounce of knowledge we were ever taught says that unless they're actively having sex with someone, a demon's thrall should not be able to overcome the natural survival instinct.”

“Takashi never verbalized anything about that. How do you intend to complete the mission if--”

“That's something you still haven't learned about the evolutions of a Black Dog, Holt,” Vorash pushed himself to his feet and brushed his pale bangs from his face, “just because we'd die for something doesn't mean we won't destroy it.” He sat on the edge of the planter, stretching out his legs.

“What is Lance planning?”

“Some kind of temporal magic. I doubt he has the power to pull it off, but if he fails at it well enough, we won't have to worry about how long it will take Ryou and me to regain our abilities.”

“And if he succeeds?”

“Then you'll have your dead demon back, and the rules of temporal magic and resurrection still complete the mission for us anyway. We'll still kill the other demon, though. The organization has rules. Our superiors wouldn't appreciate knowing of your attempts at circumventing them.”

“Don't tell them, then.”

Vorash leaned forward, a soft smile on his face. “Don't confuse me with the Shirogane you have on a leash. Or can't you tell the difference between a twenty-four year old and a thirty-one year old?” He took in the way Matt straightened up, the flare his nostrils and the flex of his jaw, and dusted off the knees of his pants. “If that's all, Agent Holt, I'd like some time to clean myself up and cover this growing bruise you've given me so that the target doesn't suspect I'm not as obedient as I've been playing. Shielding most of my thoughts behind projections gets tiresome.”

The irritated flick of one hand was all he needed; the walk to the hall restroom was done in a rolling stride that was both brisk and unhurried, and he checked all three stalls before stopping in front of the mirror to touch his teeth. Two of them wiggled slightly, but the roots didn't feel broken so he reached into his pocket and pulled out a makeup compact to cover the darkening bruise and split lip.

By the time he returned to Lance, the encounter on the patio might never have happened. The demon offered him a quick smile as he entered the room, but the cracked blue eyes barely shifted from the pages he was perusing. Several adhesive tabs already stuck out from the edge of the spellbook. He glanced up at the demon as he pulled his own acquisition from the canvas bag and started thumbing through it.

Lance was all but hunched over the book, eyes darting feverishly from side to side as he absorbed the information on the pages at a frantic pace. He hadn't slept much since Vorash had arrived at the hospital, every moment filled with talk of how to 'fix' the other demon's death. A deal with a powerful Divine had been out of the question, since there were no gods left with the capacity to raise the dead and no demon had ever had the ability. The Angel of Death held no patience for what he called 'meddlers,' and the injured gryphon had information on what he called 'very good authority' that he was busily training a protegee, anyway.

Necromancy had been discussed in circles—no one in the room could confirm for certain if demons had souls, and so bringing Curtis back in such a fashion would be hopeless at best and potentially incredibly dangerous. Even if there had been a soul in play, no one willing to work the spell in the room knew what to look for to bind it to the body. Another snag; the Holt girl had dragged the corpse into the RAD storm, and they had no way of locating the flesh with which to work the spell. The debate had been tiresome, and exhausted all involved.

He had tried not to participate much, preferring to watch them chase their own tails in desperation and happily avoiding the violence he could feel simmering beneath the surface of Keith's calm. The Dire Wolf might have inexplicably decided to let him slide on killing the demon he'd married, but those shaded violet eyes promised that Keith hadn't forgotten that the shot had been meant for Lance, or that it had first gone through James, much less what Curtis had meant to him.

The Extrahuman had been mentally murdering him when the topic of time travel had come up; he remembered the way his head jerked before his eyes had even flickered in a blink. The incredulous laugh had died in his throat when he'd seen the look on Lance's face. The argument had burst out of him like an explosion, loud and sudden and summoning nearby medical personnel. They had joked about it recently, apparently, and Keith seemed convinced that Lance had missed the part where the price for traveling through time was one's own life.

His target for a supplemental kill, he mused, rubbing a page of the technomancy spellbook between his fingers. He could always just shoot the older demon again anyway, and it wouldn't be energy he and his brother hadn't already expended. A 'twofer,' as he understood the English colloquialism. He should feel pleased.

Except he hadn't been lying to Matt on the patio when he'd told him he would die for those wild blue eyes. Nothing he had learned or read or experienced about demonic abilities suggested the capacity to invoke such a strong reaction without direct sexual contact. It was possible that this meant a new evolution in demonic capabilities. He made a mental note to inform his superiors directly when he made his report. Holt had proven himself unreliable, after all, by not reporting the presence of the second demon at any point in the past two years he'd been stationed here.

He turned the page, more to appear to be doing anything than because he'd even registered the words in front of him. Temporal magic meant he might not be able to make certain that the home office could get a hold of Lance's body for study once he and Curtis were both dead. He thought. He was pretty sure; no one was one hundred percent certain how temporal magics actually worked, since the cost of the spells tended to be one's own time and life.

The thought of Lance disappearing into a tangle of poorly-researched temporal magics made his abdomen tighten. The past three days had been a continuing education in why he and Ryou had been called in on one of Takashi's cases; every time those blue eyes met his, Vorash could feel the floor drop from underneath his feet.

His cell phone beeped; the signal had returned, weak through the vestiges of the RAD storm, but enough for a text message to have gone through. It was from Ryou, and simply read, ' _found him_ ,' as though their brother's position had ever been in question. He sighed and tucked the phone back under his leg, shaking his head. He glanced up when Lance leaned back and thought of nothing in particular. “Ryou wanted to keep tabs on Kash,” he explained quietly.

“Well I hope it's been extremely harrowing for him, sitting on a suburban street dodging the neighborhood watch,” Lance's mouth twitched, and Vorash realized he'd meant the sneered words to be a kind of joke, “those people can be brutal.”

“You know it's how we were taught, Lance,” he objected quietly, “haven't I been helping?” He watched the demon's lips curl back down over his teeth, and relaxed back into the back of his chair.

Lance looked irritated. “You're doing it again.”

He offered a small smile and ducked his head, but didn't bother trying to break eye contact. “Sorry. We are trained to deflect mind readers. And you do remind me of all the blues in nature. They're all in your eyes, every time I look. The text is dated yesterday; whoever attacked the were, it wasn't Ryou. Would you like me to look into it?”

The demon pursed his lips, then shook his head and snapped his attention back down to his book. “It won't matter. It won't happen if we save Curtis. Everything...” for the first time in three days, Vorash saw the tired young man behind the terrifying power. He found himself disliking the look on Lance's face immensely just before it disappeared with a flex of his jaw. “Everything will be fine once we save Curtis.” He let the silence settle a little. “What are you going to tell Ryou?”

Vorash frowned down at his phone, then leaned forward to snap a picture of the growing list by the Cuban's hand. “I guess I'll start with 'pick up a few things,'” he said slowly, “and go from there.”


	28. Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Vorash get some in-depth help with their project.

The words on the page seemed to shake before his eyes, and he leaned back to rub the bridge of his nose. The candlelight flooding the ruined manor house might have fit a certain demonic aesthetic, but it was hardly conducive to long bouts of comfortable reading. He shook his head and glanced over at the worn couch tucked into the corner of the old parlor. Vorash had dozed off again, curled comfortably under Lance's favorite blanket with an open notebook in front of him. He'd been comparing the recipes for the various spells Lance had found that claimed to manipulate time, while Lance had focused on tracing the instructions back to their oldest translatable languages and deconstructing the phrasing. His phone was plugged in to a solar charger after dying on a lengthy call with Haxus.

He was trying to figure out another way to translate the texts when he heard a vehicle pulling up outside. He held his hand up to Vorash, who was halfway to his feet already, and shook his head. The assassin laid back down with a faint frown.

A week and a half in a cave working alongside the chimera had drummed the familiar pattern of Haxus' faint limp into Lance's mind. He pulled aside the hanging fabric to let the skinny man inside. “You didn't have to come,” he told the construct, who clicked his tongue at him and brushed past. Lance glanced out into the dark, then let the fabric settle back into place.

Haxus was already seated when he came back to the couch, making changes in Lance's notes. He didn't look up when the demon sat beside him, or when Lance motioned for Vorash to relax. It was almost ten minutes before Haxus set down the papers and blew a breath out through his nose. “Katharine is inconsolable,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the writing but clearly no longer processing it, “I have never seen her cry before and I...I don't like it.” His brows drew together slightly. “It makes me...feel--” his breath caught, and he gestured vaguely, frustrated that he couldn't find the right word.

“Helpless,” Vorash suggested quietly, dropping his eyes when the chimera's attention snapped over to him. The room filled with a familiar, rattling hiss.

“Haxus,” Lance said quietly. The hissing stopped. “Since you're not wearing a coat, can I get you something to drink? I have some lemon tea with honey and cream in a chill box that Allura made when she stopped by today.”

“Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.” He watched the demon get to his feet and cross the room. “When did you get the new dog?”

“Vorash is Shiro's younger brother,” Lance volunteered the information softly, pouring the tea and bringing a box of raw sugar cubes with him back to the couch. “Hot or cold?”

“Hot, please,” some of the tension was leaving Haxus' shoulders at the polite chatter, “three lumps.”

With an acknowledging tip of his head, Lance levered three lumps of sugar into the cup and frowned at it in his hands. His fingertips sparkled the icy color of his magic, but the liquid in the cup quickly began to steam. He set the cup on a saucer and carefully settled it on a space on the folding table.

“Thank you.” The former fae picked up both cup and saucer and took a careful sip. He gave Lance a little approving nod as he did so. “When did you figure out how to adapt your ability beyond cold?”

The demon shrugged. “The hospital. I had a lot of time to think about magic and some of the rules of physics it follows. Hot and cold is just physics. Cold is slowing down molecules so there's less friction and hot is speeding them up. A little practice under medical supervision kept me busy.”

“Not everyone who can do one can manage the other,” Haxus pointed out, but he gave Lance a nod when the demon shrugged, “exciting molecules isn't much different than shapeshifting, I suppose.” He flicked his glance back to Vorash. “Do you intend to use him?”

“He volunteered, but more than half of the texts agree that it has to be the caster.” Lance shrugged again and gestured to the table full of notes. “I don't think of it as dying. Just correcting a mistake.”

“He died to save you,” the chimera said flatly, watching the words hit in Lance's full body flinch, “you don't think he'd object to you calling that a mistake?”

“It was just his reflex, not a choice,” the Cuban shook his head, lips pursing, “he was that kind of person. I'm not worth dying for. I never have been.”

“And the dog?”

“He has his own task.”

“He's just an Orthus, Lance, not a Cerberus. He's not going to remember.”

The faint smile that crossed his face didn't reach his eyes. “There'll be just enough overlap,” he said quietly, “he and his twin are both Orthi. Plus Shiro's there, weighing down the moment. It'll be just enough for him to remember. Just long enough.”

The hard purple and yellow eyes watched him for a few heavy seconds, before Haxus nodded and Lance let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Did he pull the trigger?”

Vorash lifted his head, but kept his eyes on the floor. Lance motioned for him to speak. “It was Ryou. He's a better shot in bright light.”

“Well.” The chimera picked up a page of Lance's notes again. “You tell him, if he makes her cry in this new timeline, I'll put your whole bloodline in the ground. This town has enough troubles without an extra pair of rabid dogs.”

The Orthus tilted his head, and Lance saw the scowl cross his face before he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his hair to mutter into the couch.

“A little leeway, Haxus. He is trying to help fix things.” Lance crossed from the settee to the couch, settling a hand on the assassin's shoulder through the blanket.

“I'm not here to be nice. I'm here to be doing something.” The chimera squinted at the page for a moment, then clicked his tongue, dug in his pocket, and pulled out a handful of what looked like marbles. He rubbed them together in his palms for a moment, then tossed the whole handful ceilingward. As soon as they touched the stained medallion tiling, they stuck and lit up, bathing the room in bright yellowish light.

Vorash, who had been starting to emerge from under the blanket to resettle his head in Lance's lap, growled and pulled the fabric back over his head. Lance squinted his eyes shut and blinked hard for a few seconds. “Yikes, man. A little warning, next time?”

“I did not squint my way through the grimy dawn of European 'civilization' to add more strain to my eyes in the year of your Lord twenty-two twenty-three,” Haxus informed him curtly. He glanced up from the paper in his hand and clicked his tongue again. “Go to sleep. You're not going to cast a spell properly in that state.”

“I'm fine, I just need a little pick-me-up,” Lance looked down when Vorash shifted again and chuckled at the mumbled question against his thigh, “no, baby, you don't have to uncover your eyes, and we don't have to do it here. Come on.” He helped the Orthus to his feet and guided him towards the door, disappearing into the dark of the hallway.

Haxus sighed down at the papers in front of him. “Demons...”

He was so absorbed in his translations that he hardly registered any of the noises coming from the other room, but his head came up sharply at the smell of blood surrounding the two as Lance returned over an hour later carrying a limp Vorash in his arms. The chimera dropped his jaw and inhaled, then relaxed a little. “Cutting it a little close, aren't you?”

“He'll be fine.” Lance crossed the room, giving Haxus a good look at the jagged bite marks on the unconscious assassin's neck and shoulders, and the quickly-healing scratches on Lance's bare chest. The demon laid Vorash down on the couch, the lights on the ceiling highlighting the days-old bruises on the man's pale skin before Lance covered them with the soft blanket. “Stop looking so disgusted, I haven't done anything he hasn't enthusiastically agreed to.”

“How much of that is addiction?” Haxus leaned back when Lance jerked back to his feet and lunged halfway over the folding table. “I don't care,” he clarified, both brows raised, “but it would be a shame if your people went five hundred years without killing during a feeding only to continue that streak on a time travel technicality.”

He gave Lance's insectile hiss a brief lift of his eyebrows before he returned to his translations. “Who's fetching your ingredients? That dog's in no shape to drive, and the big one hasn't left the Dire's side.”

“Well, process of elimination should answer your question then, shouldn't it?”

Haxus pressed his thin lips together, irritated. “No, it doesn't. The human, the half-breed, the other Orthus, one of your other friends or found family—any of them could be helping you, little demon, and since I also am helping you, if you could _stop being a little bitch and give me a straight answer,_ I would appreciate it. Unless you'd rather I solve your riddles than help with these translations.”

“The other Orthus,” Lance informed him quietly, sitting on the arm of the old couch, which creaked alarmingly even under his lessened weight. The overhead lighting made the dusky freckles spattering his dark skin stand out further, and Haxus found himself thinking they looked like reverse stars in a sandy sky.

The chimera shook his head and jerked his attention back to his work. “Pull your aura in before you seriously hurt someone,” he huffed.

“I thought chimera were immune to magics?”

“Resistant. It's no wonder the puppy keeps letting you at him, if you're throwing enough to affect me.” He breathed a little easier when he felt the pressure lift, and shook his head. “What is it with you and dogs?”

“I like cats, too,” the muttered words sounded almost sullen.

“I mean, they get within a hundred feet of you and instantly become your b--”

“I actually haven't met Ryou.” When Haxus glanced up in surprise, Lance was smiling at him. It almost reached his eyes. “Vorash has been the one communicating with him.”

The skinny man snorted. “You're telling me that grumbly ball of fluff is the twin giving orders?”

“Hah. No. He's just asking for his brother's help.” The demon leaned over to gently tug the blanket back up past Vorash's eyes when the Orthus shifted. The silence was contemplative. “I guess I've always been a dog person.”

“Wasn't it you who asked Shiro to mount you with his Cerberus?”

“Don't kinkshame me. It's not like he's actually a _dog_. You'll be getting on the case of every mixed-species werewolf couple next, accusing them of bestiality just because they like knotting.”

Even Haxus couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped through his nose. “Whitehorse would never let me hear the end--” they both realized his words halfway through, and both looked down, “of it.” The last two words were barely a murmur.

“You liked Curtis, too?”

“He was always kind to Katharine,” Haxus moved a page of translations up so he could compare it with other notes, “that means quite a bit to me. I know Adam better than I knew Curtis. Any business conducted was done between the two of us.”

“Not Adam and Sendak?”

“Sendak is an excellent Commander, which means he handles the broad strokes of things and trusts me to handle the minutiae.” The chimera frowned at his pen and flicked it, then carefully wrote over the top of the last word.

“And he'd much rather eat hot dogs, watch gore porn, and flirt with Curtis?” Lance draped himself across the back of the couch, crossing his disproportionately long legs at the knee.

“Even I would rather have been doing that.”

The demon shot him a look of surprise. “I thought you were ace, like Katie.”

“I am. I still enjoy flirting. Being asexual doesn't mean I'm anti-social, Atrillo. Katharine enjoys a good flirt, I've never heard you question her sexuality.” The words came out a little more waspish than he'd intended, but he refused to apologize for the emotion behind them.

“Okay, two things. I'm sorry, and girls in a lot of countries are socialized to be what a lot of people perceive as flirty, so I tend not to pay it any mind unless it's made inescapably clear. Also she'd rip my arms off if I questioned her sexuality, so I guess three things.” This time the smile did reach his eyes, and Haxus shot him a look of dismissive irritation by way of forgiveness. “Did you ever flirt with Adam?”

“Not in a fashion he perceived as flirting.” He passed two pages of translations over to the demon, who sat up to read them eagerly. His eyes snapped from the relaxed blue gleam to the hard flare of broken glacial ice, and Haxus looked away quickly. The ease with which Lance levered himself between comfortable and obsessed was nauseating. “Those are the corrections to what we already established. Now you're going to have to be quiet, because I have to think in languages that died out before humanity tamed fire.”

The translations gave him a headache. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally looked up and stretched himself out, but he knew it had been long enough that someone had apparently come by with food for Lance and Vorash. They were curled up on the couch in the corner, Vorash asleep with his head in Lance's lap. The demon was taking notes on a comparison between two different translated spells, using the sleeping Orthus' shoulder to hold up his clipboard. “The rest of this is religious set dressing,” Haxus informed the demon quietly, gesturing to the pages, “nothing significant to the spell itself.”

“Thank you, Haxus.”

“I told you. This isn't about you.”

The demon looked down, lips pursed. “You know that if this works and we fix it, she's still going to cry, right?”

“She hasn't known you as long as she's known Curtis, it won't cut her as deeply. She'll recover much more quickly.” The chimera dropped his eyes back to the table for a moment, then shook his head.

“Right. Expert on the nature of people.” Those blue eyes flashed in amusement from under the unkempt shag of brown hair.

“I should be, at my age.” The thin mouth pulled tight, not quite a smile.

“Yeah, what's a thousands of years old fae doing dating a twenty-one year old Earthbound, anyway? Seems a little...I mean. That's a hell of an age gap.” Lance closed one eye and wrinkled his nose, making it clear he was teasing.

“We aren't dating.” Haxus scowled down at his hands. “I'm courting her. There's a difference.”

“Okay, now you've made it gross.” The demon wrinkled his nose.

“How is that gross?”

“Because you sound like you're stuck in the fifteenth century.”

“It's not—ugh. I don't owe you an explanation.”

“No, come on, tell me. What's the difference between courting and dating?”

The chimera stared at him for a long moment, then leaned back with a sigh through his nose. “A courtship is a plea for attention, to be considered worthy of it. It's proving that you're the kind of person they want to be dating. Then you date. Deepen the friendship the courtship allowed you to cultivate.”

“So you intend to date her.”

“If she will accept the arrangement,” Haxus admitted slowly, brows drawing together.

“So it'll still be a hell of an age gap.” Lance leaned back slightly and tipped his head.

“Yes, all right, fine. It's a hell of an age gap. It isn't going to get smaller the more you harp on it.” The serpent could feel himself puffing up defensively.

“What made you think you might be interested in someone so very much younger than you?”

The look the chimera shot him could have withered a flower in Katie's palm. “What, you want tips for picking up toddlers?”

“No, no. You know what I mean, right? You must have met Katie online when she was, what, sixteen?”

“Fifteen, and no, I was not attracted to her then. She was a sullen, angry, manic teenager. Her work online was fueled as much by the vagrancies of hormonal fluctuation as by raw intellect. But I looked forward to seeing her when she came into herself. I knew that eventually watching her work would be like watching a master compose a symphony—and I was right.”

Lance was watching his face intently, and gave him a faint smile. “Is that when you fell in love with her, the first time you saw that?”

“You really don't understand anything about us,” Haxus sneered. He took a slow sip of water as Lance waited patiently, then finally sighed. “I am always falling in love with her. The curve of her cheek, the tilt of her smile, the smell of her hair—even the way she's always insisting I teach her how to maintain my prosthetics, which is annoying every single time—everything about her makes me love her deeper. There wasn't a 'when,' it's always happening. I wouldn't have noticed it starting, because just trying to keep up with her mentally is like trying to track a passing meteor with my eyes. It's impossible with a side of possibly getting someone hurt,” he explained waspishly when the demon tipped his head.

“You do know I know Katie enough to know that she would find that romantic, right?”

“I also know that you know me well enough to keep your mouth shut.”

“I don't know you very well at all, actually.”

“Perhaps not, but you aren't a complete imbecile. Smart enough to know better than to pretend at knowledge you lack. Certainly smart enough to know when you're over your head.” He flicked the papers on the plastic table casually. “So, smart enough to know better than to try to tell Katharine that I got mushy.”

Lance held up his phone. “Here's the thing. I'm going to change the timeline, and I know you know what that means for me as an entity. I know you know that Katie's fond of me--”

“Not as fond as she is of Curtis,” Haxus muttered.

“Right. Like you said, she'll cry over me and there's a chance this won't work. I know it's occurred to you to sabotage some translations so that she isn't crying over two deaths. So.” He hit a button on the phone as the serpent lurched into a standing position, and scrambled to the back of the couch with the device to his ear as Vorash muzzily sat up and growled. The phone buzzed faintly, then lit up with the sound of Katie's voice.

“Lance?”

“Hey, Katie, I thought you'd wanna hear about something I heard your skinny-ass man say,” Lance put a hand on the back of Vorash's head as Haxus braved his teeth in an attempt to lunge forward, “you got a minute?”

“Give me that _phone_ , you little--!”

“Haxus?” She sounded a little more relaxed. “Do you wanna say it before Lance tells me?”

“It's stupid,” the chimera hissed, “he's just blackmailing me.”

“And he knew I'd go along with it,” she hummed, “so, would you like to?”

“No.”

“He said trying to keep up with you mentally is like trying to track a meteor with his eyes because it's impossible and will probably hurt somebody.” Lance gave Haxus a brilliant smile when the chimera hissed.

The silence on the line dragged on, until Lance was also starting to look uncomfortable. When Katie finally spoke, it sounded slightly subdued. “I think that about him sometimes, too. It comes with growing up in different eras. Our minds work very differently. Are you coming back, Lance? Please?”

The demon dropped his eyes, frowning faintly. “Not yet, Katie. As soon as Haxus finishes helping me with this project, shouldn't be more than a day or so after that.”

“So I am getting my boyfriend back before--”

“I'm not going to make anyone miss his memorial service,” the Cuban promised, sounding as though she'd punched him in the gut to extract the information.

“I was going to say 'before Friday night,' because he's really way more devout about observing my religion than I am.”

“I was around when it was taking form,” Haxus put in sourly, “I just really like it.”

“And his cooking is better than mine. By the way Lance, if Taka ever offers to cook dinner for you, tell him no.”

“I'll bear it in mind,” Lance murmured, smiling faintly at the phone in his hand before shaking himself and blinking up at Haxus. “We gotta go, Katie, I just needed--”

“To say Haxus' shit out loud so he'd do whatever you want him to, yeah, Lance. I'm familiar with the concept of blackmail. Not sure you are, though.”

“Bye, Katie!” Lance hung up the phone and dropped his hands to his lap, face screwing up in thought. “She's gonna figure it out.”

Haxus tipped his head as Lance's phone lit up and rang. “She already did. Isn't that why you hung up on her?”

The demon sighed and sank back to the couch, gently stroking Vorash's hair as the Orthus settled back down with a grumble. “Guess you'd better hurry up, then?”

“Give me back that fourth page,” the chimera bared his fangs in a brief, insincere smile and took back the page to adjust his translations. He worked it over again, then handed the corrections back to Lance, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and started leafing through the papers again. “If nothing else you have accomplished your goal, Atrillo,” he sighed, “I definitely want you dead now.”

“You guys are so weird. Why don't you want me to tell your girlfriend that you like her?”

“She's not my--”

“Dude, it's twenty-two twenty-three, nobody courts anymore. Date her already.”

Haxus stared at him for a long moment, then looked thoughtfully down at the work in front of him. “Tell me that again on the other side of the loop,” he said quietly.

Lance blinked at the top of his head, then smiled. “Yeah, okay. It'll be the end of it, though. I swear.”

“Doesn't matter to me at all, you're the only one who's going to know about the time loop.”

“Fair point. Hey, will it drop me in my uh. 'Younger' body, or will I show up as a separate physical entity? Does it specify--”

“Atrillo,” Haxus sat back with a hiss, “there's literally no way of knowing for certain, because none of these spells are the original written pieces, so we can't get any kind of hint as to any notes the creator had. If it specifies something, I will make a note of it in my translation. Run an inventory check or something and get out of my hair.”

“You don't really have--”

“ _Atrillo_.”

“Shutting up,” he didn't bother to hide the smugness of his tone. The rustle of paper behind Haxus indicated that the demon had returned to his study.

His eyes were blurring again when he sat back with the last page, and Lance and Vorash were conspicuously absent from the room. He frowned at the empty couch, then the doorway subjecting him to the sounds of them coupling in the other room. “Going to kill that damned dog,” he muttered.

“He'd better not,” Katie noted quietly from her seat on the steps, “Taka's been really freaked out that someone's going to hurt Vorash all week. He'll be super messed up if it turns out to be Lance.” She held the flat of one boot against the opposite side of the doorframe and leaned against her knee to look at him.

He met her gaze with a faint scowl. “You usually let me feel you coming.”

“You're not in trouble, I just didn't want to interrupt. You've been in it a while.” She rolled to her feet and clomped over to him, peering down at the papers. “Temporal magic?”

“Temporal magic,” he sighed, rubbing at his temples. He relaxed into her hands with a murmur as she settled her fingertips beside his and gently guided the circular motions. “I'm not--”

“I know,” she told him softly, and cradled his head when he leaned it against her thin chest. “It's okay, though. I'm not either. I hate that I can't stop thinking it, but Curtis does a lot more for Dryreef than Lance would, even as an aid pilot. You're right, and I'm not here to stop you.” She stroked her hands gently over the edges of his hood and down the sides of his neck, then sighed and leaned back. “I did, however, promise both Adam and Taka that I would check on Lance and Vorash, so. I've been waiting.”

“They should be done soon, if it isn't Atrillo's intention to kill the Orthus.” The words were mumbled against the buttons of her shirt, and Haxus loosely hooked his arms around her narrow hips, humming.

“Helping your headache, viper?” She asked, stroking down the lines of his hood again. She stifled a laugh when he grumbled incoherently. “I did bring painkillers with me.”

“Oh good, my head is killing me,” Haxus lifted his head and made a face as she reached past him to pull a small bottle from her pocket. He sniffed when she offered the bottle, then leaned back to accept it, remove the cork, and down the contents. “Honey?”

“It doesn't change the efficacy of the painkiller, Haxus, and there's no reason potions should taste like raw ass.”

Haxus opened his mouth, but Lance's arrival rode right over what he'd been going to say. “Being fairly well an expert on the subject, Katie, I can tell you with certainty that I have never had a potion that tasted like ass. I would never stop drinking it.” He carried the unconscious Orthus to the couch and gently laid him back down, covering him with the soft blanket. “Anyway, as I understand it, honey increases the potency of a healing potion. Lemon works for vigor potions.” He waggled an eyebrow and grinned at her incredulous scoff. “Shiro asked you to check on me?”

“Shiro and Adam both asked after you and Vorash,” she specified. She lifted both brows when he looked down at his hands. “You really like Taka, huh?”

“Uh, my immediate, gut response to that is 'fuck you,' does that tell you what you need to know?”

“Considering you're in the process of repeatedly pounding his little brother into a drooling mess, yeah, answers it perfectly. When are you planning on the ritual?”

Lance glanced over at Haxus, who rolled his eyes and pulled up a stellar chart app on his phone. “Looks like...ah. Saturday, starting at around...oh.”

“Yeah.” Katie gave the both of them a mild look.

“Adam knew, and that's why he scheduled the memorial service for then, didn't he?”

“Don't be an asshat, Lance, funeral parlors are first-come-first-serve, he didn't schedule anything.” Katie stepped forward to shove him, scowling.

Haxus was on his feet to grab the demon's arm before he could topple over. “You don't have to say goodbye, anyway.” He glanced at the other two as they stared at him. “What? It's not like he's in there. He's a demon; demons don't have souls. He'll have been dead and in a freezer for a week, he's long gone. I still do not understand so many humans having adopted the ritual of burying your dead. _You_ don't need the roots of the earth to hold down the angry spirits of your deceased.”

“Wait, what?” Lance lifted his head slightly.

“Certain courts, our dead don't mean what they mean to humans. And certain species of vampire and lycanthrope. Tree roots are lines of life and magic running through the earth. Fae dead can't cross them. But when we die, regardless of the circumstances, our spirits start to turn angry. If we're not going to bring someone back, we have to bury them beneath tree roots.”

“His point is, if you go back properly it won't matter,” Katie interrupted the babble with a hand on Haxus' head. “Curtis will be alive again and you will be dead. The goodbye will never have happened.”

“And I _have_ to do it then, or the spell won't work right?”

“Give or take an hour or so.” Haxus shrugged when they both stared at him. “Stellar drift is influenced by a literally incalculable amount of factors, the spell setup I got the timeframe from is fifteen thousand years old.”

“Your app doesn't cover that?”

“Very funny, Katharine. Did you drive all the way out here to be an asshole?” His thin mouth pulled into a smile when she stuck her tongue out at him. “Just engage the magics early and tie it off a little slowly, you'll be fine with the timeframe.”

“Yeah, all right. I just...” Lance sat on the edge of the couch, frowning. “I just thought I'd get the goodbye for me, at least.”

“Lance,” Katie plopped down on the floor at his feet and leaned her chin on his knee, “I don't want you to die. You're my friend, and Hunk's my friend, and Keith's my brother and he likes both of you, and Taka's going to be devastated.”

“I have to--”

“I know.” She gave him a little smile and popped up to kiss his forehead. “I'm saying goodbye, dumbass.” She squeaked when his arms came up and pulled her into his lap, but sighed and hugged his head when he hugged her tightly. “I don't want either of you to die,” she whispered into his hair, “but Curtis--”

Haxus curled his shoulders in when she started to cry into Lance's hair. “My translations are done,” he announced abruptly, “I'm going to go...lie in the sun for a while.”

Lance stroked Katie's back as she cried on him. He expected some reaction from himself, sympathetic tears to finally come, but he just felt dry and cold. He'd felt dry and cold from the moment the comforting hum of Curtis' mind had vanished from the space between them. He'd spent every moment he could awake, and all of that focused on re-planning his own assassination. Sinking his powers into Vorash had been entirely instinctive, and far too easy for a trained HOPE field agent. Their sex was only about feeding; Lance's mind went over every detail of his plans while his body carried out the act, and he couldn't even find it in himself to feel guilty about the way the Orthus' eyes looked bruised and his cheeks a little hollow.

At this point, it was a reminder that the Orthus wasn't Shiro, despite looking like a carbon copy. Shiro had been work to win over, Shiro had held to the line he'd been fed even as it shredded between his fingers, Shiro would never have let anyone hurt Curtis, not the Shiro that Lance had come to know. But Katie had known HOPE would send more assassins when Shiro didn't complete his mission, and Lance couldn't help but wonder why Shiro hadn't. He wanted to ask Katie, but she was still crying and he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't lie to protect Shiro; he'd have to ask the Cerberus himself.

He lifted his head slightly, just enough to let Katie release him and lean back before he straightened up entirely. “What day is it?”

“Friday morning.”

He squinted at her as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Didn't I call you Wednesday night?”

“Yeah, you guys have been seriously packed in here. Did anyone bring you regular food yesterday?”

“Not...that I recall. I have been out of it.”

“You're in the grip of a literally lethal obsession, so. Don't really expect you to keep a lot of track. I'll go pick up food for all four of us.” She wriggled herself out of his lap and rubbed at her face again, then dragged her fingers back through her hair and shook it slightly. “Do I look presentable?”

“You don't look like you were just sobbing hysterically into my hair,” Lance offered with a grimace, “but 'presentable' depends on to whom you're being presented.”

“The general public,” she shrugged.

“Oh, fuck them. You're good.” He watched her tromp towards the door, and tipped his head. “Hey, Katie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Adam feels bad that Curtis isn't going to have any family at his funeral?”

She turned on her heel faster than he would have thought possible in the boots she was wearing. “We'll be there,” she said hotly, “he'll have lots of family there.” She stomped out before he could say anything else.


	29. Trip the Breaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Vorash prepare for the afternoon of Curtis' memorial service.

Shiro hurried out of the house to greet them, half-dragging Adam by the hand. He only released the Dire's fingers when Adam grabbed the back of his shirt with the other hand. He yanked Lance off the bike in a single motion and dropped his head to kiss him, arm twining around the demon's waist.

Both of Lance's hands came up to bury in Shiro's hair, and he melted against the Cerberus with a dreamy sigh, one foot shifting to balance on the toe of his shoe. He hung on the kiss, let Shiro hold him up through it as his long legs buckled.

Vorash took off his helmet and stayed on the bike, watching the two kiss with a small crease between his eyes. He glanced over at Adam when the were made a small sound, and ducked his head.

“You look like _hell_ ,” the blond breathed, reaching out to brush back a loose bit of silver bang and tip his head back up, “did Lance do this to you?”

Vorash gave him a small smile and folded his fingers over the top of Adam's on his jaw. “Lack of sleep, Dire, I'll be fine.” He kept his eyes down, gently pushing the blond's hand away. “Please don't worry about me. I don't think I could handle it.”

Adam turned his hand in the Orthus' grip and stepped closer to settle a hand on his hair. “Hush,” he murmured, softly enough that Vorash knew it was only for the two of them, “I had almost seven years of total, unbelievable happiness. He told me over a month ago the day he would die. I've had time.”

“You're staying in Kash's bubble, though.”

“Having time to get used to it doesn't mean I'm not grieving, Vorash.” Adam bent forward to press a kiss to the crown of the younger Shirogane's head. “But I forgive you. He forgave you. You need to hear that, okay? I'd love to tell Ryou. Curtis...when his dreams started, he told me every time he woke up, to tell you he didn't blame either of you. Okay?”

Vorash pushed at him weakly, then hooked his fingers into Adam's loose henley and pressed his face hard against the Dire's belly. He sat on the bike and trembled as the blond wrapped his arms around his head and gently held him.

When he finally lifted his head, and looked around, all three of the other men were smiling at him. Lance leaned comfortably against Shiro, arms crossed over his chest, and the eyes above the smile that touched them were rich blue and ocean deep. “Oh,” he sighed at Lance, feeling himself break into a smile, “your eyes are so beautiful.”

“You've got the morning,” Shiro told them both firmly, “you should have a decent breakfast. Adam cooks like he's feeding the whole Garrison.”

“You still eat it all,” the Dire noted mildly, keeping his arm around Vorash as the younger Shirogane dismounted from the bike and guiding him inside.

“Well, I can't cook. Can't resist a home-cooked meal, either.” Shiro shared a smile with Lance as he guided the demon inside. He missed the brief look Lance shot Vorash, or the flash of cracked-power eyes beneath the fall of soft brown hair. “He's been frying eggs since four'o'clock this morning.”

“It gives me something to do,” Adam's smile was slightly subdued.

“I don't actually object,” Shiro reassured him softly, then clicked his tongue at Lance when the demon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'hot,' under his breath.

“Mind your hormones, Lance, we haven't fooled around,” the Dire gave him a small grin.

“Well, we made out a little,” Shiro admitted.

“It's not fooling around unless you get your dick out,” the phrase came from both Adam and Lance at the same time, and the demon gave Adam a startled look while the Dire just looked amused.

“Okay, so that's not a rule with which I am familiar,” the older Shirogane lifted his hand with a soft laugh.

“How is he for kissing?” Lance asked brightly, tipping back his head to grin up at Shiro.

“Not better than you,” was the immediate, sincere response. When Lance reached up to lightly swat him in the back of the head, Shiro laughed. “Sorry, sorry. I saw stars. Literally.”

“We had a picnic dinner in the back yard,” Adam informed them, ushering Vorash into the house, “steak sandwiches with beef dip and tater tots--”

“I ate all the fries for breakfast,” the Cerberus admitted.

“Literally. He sat down for breakfast and ate a bag of uncooked, frozen french fries.” The Dire shot over his shoulder as all four of them paused to toe off their shoes in the entryway. “Good seasoned waffle fries.”

“I had milk, too.”

“Which one of us is Irish, again?”

“Is there a racial subdivision you belong to against which you aren't racist against, Adam?” The Cerberus sighed.

“Internally or externally?”

“Yeah okay.”

“Anyway, we had a nice peach juice with bubbles as a drink, we talked about astronomy and made out a bit. I got a decent grab at his chest before he panicked.”

“You grabbed my _nipple_ , I was _startled_ ,” Shiro half-yelped.

“I didn't _grab_ it, I _touched_ it. You'd think he was a blushing virgin, the way he carried on. Alerted the neighbors. And then what happened, Kashi?” Adam gently pushed Vorash into a kitchen chair.

“Evaline called the cops,” the older Shirogane admitted, settling Lance into the chair beside Vorash, “they rolled up ready to beat my ass to a pulp. Batons out.”

“And I had to explain to the cops that I was trying to seduce the brother of my husband's killer two days after the event,” Adam flicked on the stovetop and cracked an egg into the pan.

“It was not phrased that way any time I heard it,” Shiro offered, pulling down a couple of clean plates.

“I didn't tell him that in those words. Just joked about it in my head with Curtis.”

Lance and Vorash both sat up a little straighter, glanced at each other, and looked away. Shiro sighed. “It's going to be a long time before he stops talking to his husband in his head, you guys. That doesn't mean he's losing it.”

“I am, but that's not what should clue you in,” the Dire hummed, sprinkling a few different spices into the pan, “Lance, though, will you please tell Takashi the effects on a body that's used to having sex multiple times a day suddenly stopping all sexual activity?”

“I mean...” Lance looked from his hands and then up at Shiro. “It can cause strain and a fair amount of discomfort. In certain species it's been known to cause testicular ruptures.”

“In what species?”

“Ooo, well,” the demon shot Adam an apologetic grimace, “certain subspecies of marsupial, mostly? Some breeds of were—the older bloodlines.”

“Like the Dires?”

“There's only one Dire left as far as I know, and I don't know anything about his testicles, but it's a possibility.” Lance gave him a little shrug.

“So what, is that what you wanted?” Shiro settled his hands on Adam's hips and leaned around him to dig out utensils from the drawer. “Pity sex so your balls don't explode?”

“I wouldn't say no to it,” the werewolf turned his head to plant a kiss on Shiro's cheek, “but no, that is not how I want you. Though I do like the idea of avoiding 'testicular rupture.'”

“You are perfectly capable of jerking off, and I am perfectly well aware of that.”

“Wh—I have left the two of you alone for six and a half days!” Lance yipped. “How exactly much have I missed?”

“Adam's horny,” Shiro sounded exasperated, “and coming from me, I feel like that's saying something. I can see how he managed to feed Curtis all by himself for so long. His third method of seduction was letting me walk in on him while he was masturbating.”

“That's—that's a bold move,” Lance admitted, looking his professor over thoughtfully, “I'd have fallen for it. Hell, I'd have fallen for the steak sandwiches and stargazing.” He gave Adam a little grin. “And your neighbor would have had a whole different reason to call the cops.”

He felt his stomach drop when the golden-brown eyes settled on him and darkened. Shiro's hands redirecting Adam's hips toward the stove as they shifted toward Lance went almost unnoticed. “Would she _really_ ,” escaped the Dire's lips, nearly inaudible over the sounds of the eggs sizzling.

Vorash looked down as he felt Lance's fingers grab hold of his, but offered him a smile and gave his knuckles a kiss.

“So you jerked off, what, on the couch?”

“Nothing quite so obvious,” Adam clicked his tongue, “I was in my room. I just...moaned his name really loudly until he came to check on me.”

“Oh, because that's not obvious,” the demon rolled his eyes.

“Didn't realize you'd stopped by on the morning of my husband's memorial service to criticize my seduction techniques, Atrillo,” the blond noted, then did a double-take over his shoulder when Lance's head dropped, “hey, hey. It's not like that. No one but you blames you. Okay?”

“But--”

“Curtis knew when and where he was going to die, Lance. If it hadn't been you that had triggered all of this, it would have been something else.” Adam slid the eggs from the frying pan to a plate, then cracked a couple more eggs into the pan. He activated a second burner and motioned to Shiro, who retrieved something out of the freezer and began breaking it to pieces inside the bag. “I don't blame you. I hardly blame Ryou, and he pulled the trigger. If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else, and if it hadn't been them, it would have been someone else.”

“Curtis may have had some clairvoyant abilities,” Shiro admitted, pouring some of the contents of the bag into a second frying pan already wet with oil, “or he was given a Deathsight curse. Could have been a booby trap we missed in the aquifer, or something.”

“It's more likely to be a curse,” Lance offered hesitantly, “demons can't uh...see through time, without magical assistance. Tainted could, if they also inherited the right psychic mutations, but time and our people swore off each other a long, long time ago.” He twisted his face into a pout. “You know what I mean. We can get telepathy, telempathy, telekinesis sometimes, but clairvoyance and spirit work are both out.”

“Either way, you know how it is with predictions. You have to put ten times as much effort into changing what you saw as you put into seeing it, and even then it might turn sideways.” Adam shook his head and handed Shiro a spatula to shift the shreds of potato floating in oil.

“But if it came to him--”

“Those are the hardest of all to change,” Vorash spoke up hesitantly, “because if it took no effort on your part to be seen, then you must put no effort into changing it--”

“And the hardest thing to do is not think about pink elephants when someone tells you not to think about pink elephants,” Lance nodded, but his agreement seemed to thoroughly confuse his companion, who stared at him with his brows together and his lips slightly parted.

“So have you been supplementing him with someone else since you left the hospital?” Adam asked, frowning over his shoulder at Vorash's dark circles.

“No, the only visitor we had that wasn't food delivery was Katie, Haxus was there over a day so he wasn't visiting, and I genuinely have no idea how to sex up someone whose lower half is entirely prosthetic, even if he wasn't ace as a deck of cards.”

Shiro set the spatula down and turned to take Lance's hand, crouching down beside him to stare up into the beautiful blue eyes. “You haven't been underfeeding?” He clarified quietly.

“If anything, I cut it a little closer than I should have,” the demon admitted, turning his face away, “the hashbrowns are going to burn, Shiro.”

“Adam's watching them. Do you need—”

Lance pulled his hand away. “I'm fine,” he said, a little too sharply, then sighed and softened his tone, “I'm fine. And V's gonna be fine, too, aren't you, baby?”

“Everyone is,” Vorash agreed quietly, offering his hands across the table again. He smiled when Lance linked their fingers together, falling into the rich blue eyes and completely oblivious to the faint frown Shiro shot Adam over his shoulder.

The Dire motioned to the frying hashbrowns. “These need to be flipped, Kashi.”

“Right.” The Cerberus got to his feet and returned to the stove, keeping his eyes on Lance's face until he turned around to attend his duty.

The moment he looked away, Lance's eyes flashed the same cracked-glacier blue Vorash had grown used to, and the long fingers between his turned cold. He huffed a breath and pressed a kiss to Lance's knuckles. “Haxus said I should focus on eating more real food, anyway. I thought it was because he was grossed out by the sex, but I have been getting a little light headed lately.”

“Demons can't actually survive on sex alone,” Adam noted, leaning around Shiro to grab the open, ignored bag of shredded cheese, “not for long, anyway. Proteins are required for maintaining your body in this realm of existence.”

“Yeah, yeah. Valjaq told me.” Lance grumbled, but when Adam shot him a look over his shoulder, the dark blue eyes were soft and mildly apologetic.

“Get a little bitchy on low blood sugar, those Atrillos,” the Dire informed Shiro with a faint smile, “Veronica's the same way.”

“Hey, don't bring Ronnie into this, Professor!” Lance yelped, sitting up straighter and pulling his hands back from Vorash. “Come on, we were having--” he snapped his mouth closed and leaned back again, gaze snapping down to the table. “God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He lifted both hands to his face, shaking.

“There it is,” Adam murmured, flicking off the burner beneath the egg pan as he loaded the second pair onto the second plate. He left Shiro to plate the hashbrowns, turning to sit in the chair beside Lance and scoot closer before gently guiding the demon to lean against him and cry into his chest. He pressed his face to the soft brown hair and hummed soothingly as Lance's fingers tangled in his henley. “We are having a nice morning, sweetheart,” he assured the younger man, stroking his back and shoulder, “and that's okay. There's nothing wrong with having a nice morning without Curtis.”

The demon's choked noises cut off abruptly, and he shook his head, sniffling against Adam's shirt. He didn't clarify the motion, but stayed slumped in the Dire's embrace until Shiro settled full plates on the table. “Where'd the bacon come from?” He asked wetly, wiping at his face.

“A box of precooked,” Shiro admitted, “Adam gets antsy if he has to cook it--”

“And Takashi cannot find the balance between 'burned' and 'raw,'” Adam finished, stroking back Lance's hair with a soft smile.

“And I can't even claim it's my biggest flaw,” the Cerberus sighed.

“Certainly not when you leave the flame on under an empty pan,” his host agreed gently.

“Knew I forgot something,” he turned back to make certain all five burners were off on the stove.

Adam quietly released Lance to pour his guests some juice. Vorash offered the demon a handkerchief and poked at his breakfast with his fork while Lance wiped his face. “Thank you both for breakfast,” the younger Shirogane offered, “it's interesting to meet someone who can get this much use out of Kash in the kitchen.”

“Hey,” Shiro objected in a brief laugh, “I'll have you know plenty of people have gotten plenty of use out of me in the kitchen!”

“Unsanitary,” Vorash clicked his tongue as Adam poured orange juice all over the counter. “Oh, do you need a hand, Dire?”

“No,” the response was hasty and sounded strangled, as the were hastily set down the juice jug and grabbed the kitchen towel to soak up the spill. He cleared his throat. “No, no. Thank you, Vorash. I'm fine.”

Lance's nostrils flexed. When he sneezed, it sounded like the flutter of insect wings.

“No, no. No comment from the peanut gallery, **daska** ,” Adam admonished him, flapping a hand over his shoulder.

“'Little one'?” Lance wrinkled his nose. “I'm twenty-three, you're what, thirty? There's not exactly a generational gap here, Professor.”

“Twenty-nine, and here you're still calling me 'Professor' in my home,” the blond noted, grimacing as a bit of juice tried to escape between the counter and the stove. “Mind trying again?”

“Why aren't you--” the younger man nearly bit the tip of his tongue when Adam turned with a glass of juice in each hand and set them on coasters on the table.

“I told you. He knew, he told me. I had time to get used to the idea.” He crouched beside the demon and squinted when Lance eyed him warily. “Doesn't mean I didn't love him with everything I have in me,” he specified firmly, and smiled a little when the demon gave him a faint responsive lip twitch, “but he helped me through the bulk of it before it happened. After that edge right after it happened, I'm mostly past the 'crying in a dark corner' phase.” He brushed Lance's hair back from his face again. “Okay?”

“I just--”

“You didn't know. Take your time mourning, Lance. Curtis won't get mad at either of us.” The Dire cupped his cheek gently.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, turning his face against Adam's palm, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” His voice shook; he jerked his head back and shook it. “I can't. I can't right now.”

“Take your time,” the blond repeated, “only, not with the food, because cold fried eggs are nobody's idea of breakfast.” He straightened up and leaned against Shiro's chest when the Cerberus came up behind him, leaning his head back to offer up a faint smile. “So what exact other kinds of work can I get out of you in the kitchen?”

Vorash and Lance both groaned as Shiro's ears turned bright red. “Don't start that again,” the older hunter begged, looking both pained and flustered. He only made a face and looked away when Lance looked him over with a lascivious little grin. “It's not a crime to like kitchen sex,” he muttered rebelliously.

“Unsanitary,” Vorash announced again in the same, flat tone.

“I clean up afterwards, I'm not a complete barbarian!” Shiro actually sounded offended.

Lance watched him with bright, curious eyes. “Have you ever used weird food stuff as lube, Shiro?”

The Cerberus rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. “I mean, yeah, sure I have. I've used a lot of things for lube that should never have been in the running for it, but yeah, some of that was food--”

“He used toothpaste once,” Vorash interrupted, not looking up from his plate, “we heard screaming.”

“It's not my fault over half that family is deathly allergic to mint,” his brother groused.

“It is your fault that you put the toothpaste in your bedside table.”

“This is what I get for banging cultists instead of vampires.” The elder muttered.

Lance lifted his head from his contemplation of his plate, almost too slowly. “Wait, what?”

Shiro grimaced, but it faded into a smile when he looked back up at the demon. “I hooked up with a woman whose family has been cultists for a couple hundred years. The cult started with this vampire queen on a tiny little island in the south Pacific—it doesn't matter. It was a little rushed and it turns out that about half her family is anaphylactically allergic to mint. Which I knew, but forgot that I left the toothpaste in the drawer by my bed.”

“Next to the lube?” Adam wrinkled his nose.

“Next to the lube.”

“Why, in the _ultraviolet fuck,_ did you have toothpaste in your bedroom?” The words were barely comprehensible through the mouthful of egg Lance had shoveled into his face.

“I had two little brothers who liked to leave me smiley faces in toothpaste on my bathroom mirror.” Shiro shot Vorash a fond smile, and the younger Shirogane hummed happily. “So I hid it.”

“How did you expect them to brush their teeth?” Adam craned his head to squint behind himself at the hunter.

“They had their own bathroom, and their own toothpaste.” Shiro looked puzzled as he shook his head up at the Dire.

Lance lifted the fingers on his right hand. Shiro's attention immediately snapped back his way. “You banged someone in the apartment you shared with your little brothers?”

“And our mom,” the Cerberus shrugged, huffing when Adam nudged him and swiping the open box of pre-cooked bacon from the counter to offer it absently, “never stopped her from bringing hook-ups home. It is how I got my brothers, after all.”

Vorash sputtered on his juice. “You swore to me you were gone for our conception.”

“You were five, what was I supposed to tell you?”

Lance lifted both hands, and Shiro pressed his lips together, watching the demon sort through the new information. “Can we go back to having a nice morning?” He asked quietly, sounding strained.

“Did we stop?” Adam asked, just as quiet. When Lance shot him a pained look, he sighed and leaned back a little more firmly against Shiro. “All right, all right. How are the eggs, **daska**?”

“They're good. I never would have thought to sprinkle ranch powder on fried eggs, but I like it.”

“That's actually left over from the ones I made for Takashi earlier. I didn't think to ask about your allergies before I used the same pan, I'm--”

“Please don't apologize to me,” Lance said quickly, picking up his juice to hide the quiver of his chin.

The Dire gave him a long, considering look. “Are you going to be at the service?”

Blue eyes dropped again, and the glass settled onto the coaster a little harder than Lance had intended. His mouth opened, and no sound came out. Vorash reached across the table to lift the demon's plate at the same time he raised his own, tipping his head to the orange juice glasses, which were frosting over.

Adam straightened up to retake the seat next to Lance, then gently settled a hand on the demon's arm. His fingers blanched on contact, but the color started to return almost immediately. “No one will blame you. I don't blame you. He wouldn't, either. He's not there, Lance. You don't have to be, either. You don't have to be there for him, and you don't have to be there for me.” He smiled a little more widely as the color returned to his fingernails. “Do you want to go back to having a nice morning?”

“Can you please stop being nice to me?” Lance whispered. “I am trying really, really hard to keep it together and it isn't helping.”

“Can't help it. I hate seeing pretty men sad. But I can stop doing it so pointedly.” Adam leaned forward to peck a kiss on the top of Lance's head, then leaned back. He left his arm draped over the back of the demon's chair. “Kashi, will you please pour me a glass of milk?”

“No, because you're lactose intolerant,” Shiro gave him a brief flicker of a smile, “but I will pour you some almond milk.”

“Smartass,” he tipped his head when Shiro bent into the open fridge, and gave Lance a little nudge with his hand, “but a good one, hm?”

“I'm pretty fond of it,” the demon was a little muted, then smiled and lifted his eyes to appreciate the view himself. The extra twitch to his lips suggested he suspected Shiro of taking a little extra time retrieving the almond milk. He reached up to take his plate back from Vorash without looking. “Table's warmed up again.”

“You even managed not to light it on fire,” Vorash noted in amusement.

Adam jerked slightly and lifted both eyebrows. “You can do heat now?”

“El guided me through the basics in the hospital. They were still really tired from healing Shiro--” he glanced up as the Cerberus came over and settled a glass of almond milk in front of Adam, “but they could still easily talk me through figuring out the physics behind my powers. I have set less things on fire the last couple of days, but the ice part's still very emotionally reactive.”

“That part won't come to heel?” The Dire questioned softly, lifting his hand again as if to touch Lance's hair, then settling it back down.

“El said the cold is closer to my heart than the heat,” the Cuban shrugged.

“Doesn't seem to bother you.”

“Nothing wrong with cold,” Lance shot him a sideways glance, “is there?”

Adam's smile was soft, but he aimed it at Shiro so as not to freak Lance out again. “Not even the tiniest bit,” he assured, “Curtis did cold and hot, too. Got a little dicey the first couple of times we had made love.”

Lance grimaced. “Oh. Ohhhh. Oh no. He didn't--”

The Dire's eyes nearly closed with laughter. “The sex before that was fine, it was mostly to help him heal from the head wound he showed up with, but as soon as emotion became a part of it, yeah, he absolutely did. It was not a fun healing.” His eyes flicked upward, and his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before it was caught between his teeth. “He made up for it, though.”

“Hah! I bet.” Blue eyes flicked toward the Dire, then lingered on the look on his face. The demon's nostrils flared slightly; his jaw shifted in a way that had nothing to do with chewing his eggs, and a faint hint of the hungry glow lined his pupils before he looked away. He cleared his throat delicately. “Not to interrupt your reminiscing, Professor...”

Adam turned his attention downward and popped his lips together. “But you're trying to focus on eating actual food instead of trying to subsist on life energy alone, right. In that case...” he straightened up slightly, lifting the hand from the back of Lance's chair to turn his face back toward his plate, “focus. Eat your food. Unless you don't like it?”

There was something in the way his voice changed, a soft tension that made Lance's eyes immediately drop back to his plate even as he lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “No no, I like them,” he reassured, hasty and quiet in the moment before his mouth twitched up at one corner, “the hashbrowns are a little undercooked, though.”

Shiro let out a dramatic sigh and flopped into the chair next to his brother. “I tried,” he lamented.

“We know you tried, Kashi,” the Dire hummed, sliding his hand back over Lance's shoulder to rest his arm across the back of the chair again, “don't we, little one?”

Vorash squinted slightly, looking from Adam and Lance to Shiro, who was watching the two intently, then scowled and pushed his chair back. “We should get going,” he said a little too firmly, scraping the undercooked potato shreds into the compost and rinsing his plate in the sink before settling it into the dishwasher, “we have a schedule.”

Lance lifted his head, giving him a look of surprise, then a small frown. “Right.” He shot Adam an apologetic look, downing the last of his eggs in a rush and washing them down with his orange juice before also scraping his hashbrowns into the compost and rinsing his plate. Vorash took the plate from him to put it into the dishwasher alongside his own.

Adam pushed to his feet as Vorash passed him, and snagged Lance's arm to pull him into a hug. “Happy birthday, **daska**.” The demon made a small sound of protest, but hooked his fingers in the were's shirt and pressed his face against Adam's shoulder. “Don't do anything too crazy,” the blond murmured squeezing Lance tightly.

When Lance pulled away, it was with slightly damp lashes and a crooked grin. “No promises.” He blew Shiro a kiss and hurried after Vorash, who helped him with his shoes.

As soon as the front door closed behind them, Lance grabbed the Orthus' wrist, fingers painfully cold. “I don't like jealousy, Vorash,” he said quietly.

“I didn't want you to get distracted,” was the subdued response, “I know better than to think I mean anything to you, Lance.”

The grip on his wrist warmed to a comfortable temperature, and he barely noticed the tilt of thin lips under the cracked-glacier eyes. “Baby, you know that right now you mean everything.” He gestured to the bike, and Vorash offered him his helmet.

It was quieter at the entrance to the aquifer than he remembered, but both of his memories of the cement passage involved approximately a dozen other people, so he supposed he should have expected it. It felt odd, though, to step through the still-unlocked gate and into the dark. He let his eyes adjust, then glanced over his shoulder at Vorash. “Last chance to back out, babe,” he offered quietly, then nodded at the soft smile the Orthus gave him.

They turned the corner, Lance leading Vorash through the dark by the hand. The faint stink of dried ichor hit them, and the demon stopped. “This is the place,” he whispered.

“Technically it was back there,” Vorash corrected gently, “you all moved back after Ryou pulled the trigger.”

“You're right, yeah. I remember Nicky body-slamming us back out of sight. Sort of. When my head hit the ground I kinda blacked out a second.” He backtracked, crouching down where he had been standing when the shot had gone off. He touched a small stain on the stone, and heard Vorash shuffling around behind him in the light from the entry. “Do you think we'll hear the bells from here?” He asked quietly, subdued.

“I think Adam asked them not to ring any, since he's a werewolf and probably bells make him want to howl.”

“He's burying his husband. He's going to howl.” He turned slightly to squint up at the human as Vorash picked at the wall. “What are you looking for?”

“The bullet.”

“It's a sniper round, I doubt it'll be visible.”

“It was a long shot, and it would have been slowed by--” Vorash flicked a glance over his shoulder, then grunted and tapped a hole with his finger. The gleam of metal when he moved his hand made Lance look away. “All the people it hit. This stone's not terribly dense, but that'll make it easier to retrieve.” He pulled a knife from his pocket and started digging around the bullet.

“Why are you--”

“Won't the spell be more accurate if you have the instrument of his death? That's what your notes said.”

“I was gonna use you as bait for Ryou so I could use him, actually.”

“Then why did you bother to tie me to you so thoroughly?” Vorash wriggled the bullet free, then turned and crouched to offer it to Lance. He was smiling faintly. “You could have had me call him in any time in the past four days, and you know that I would have. Every iota of me is wrapped in your power, by now. I'm incapable of telling you no, Lance.”

The demon curled his hands up, eyeing the bullet like he thought it would launch itself at him again, and reached for Vorash's other hand. He brought the calloused fingers to his lips, pressing a hollow kiss to them, and gave him a twitching smile. “You're full of shit.”

“No, I'm being honest,” the Orthus assured, “if you want me to, I can call him right now, and you can use his blood, instead. But you have the bullet that killed Curtis, so that might be a little more than you want to try to channel.”

“And the last thing I want is for this spell to get out of hand,” Lance sighed, releasing Vorash's fingers to accept the bullet. “Okay. Let's get this started. Set up the camping stove.”

“Haxus' translations didn't involve a type of fuel for the fire?”

“Nope. I think he was mostly trying to get rid of me when he told me we could use a camping stove, but Keith left me one at the manor house, so.” He double-checked the sheaf of papers, then nodded and gestured to the duffel that Vorash had set down. “And the herb packet.”

“Right.” Vorash set up the stove with very little hesitation, then centered an extra frame around it and settled a wok over the top. He settled the pre-wrapped packet of herbs in the wok and glanced up at Lance as the demon settled an open tangerine half on top of the herbs. “Oil?”

“Yeah, slightly less than a cup. And the raw dog's milk?”

“Yeah, I would do anything for you, Lance, but please never ask me to do that again.” He handed over the raw dog's milk in a mason jar with one hand and dug out the oil with the other. “The tailfeather of a harpy queen?”

“Yeah, I really would like to know where you got this.” Lance pulled out a feather that looked like it belonged to a peacock, about four feet long.

“I asked your mentor, actually,” Vorash gave him a smile, “Valjaq? Turned out he was old friends with the ancestors of a small harpy congress, named an honorary member. They gave him the feather, he sent it here. He was very friendly. His wife was a bit...brusque.”

“Oh, Maggie's just like that, she has really bad anxiety and talking to people is her least favorite activity. It wasn't personal. Also, yeah, HOPE's not her favorite people. She did marry a Demon Hive Head.”

“Fair enough.” Vorash pulled the last of the ingredients from the bag and laid it gently in Lance's palm. “Are you ready?”

“No offense, babe, but I've been just as ready to kill you at the drop of a pin this week as you have been ready to kill me,” Lance rubbed his free hand over one of the heads of the black two-headed dog that materialized beside him.

Vorash pursed his lips. “Has it shown?”

“You're really very good at hiding it, actually. I probably wouldn't have noticed it if I had been in a more susceptible state of mind.” Lance lifted the long knife and stroked his hand down the canine's neck, then nudged it aside to light the stove. He drizzled the oil in, repeating the number seven quietly to set a beat, and motioned with the hilt of the knife to Vorash, who held his arm out over the wok, took the blade, and barely grimaced when he slashed his arm open to the bone. Lance made a noise of disgust and muttered something that may have been, 'overachiever.'

The smell of blood and herbs mingled and rose from the wok, and Lance stirred the contents with the tip of his knife, watching the color of the steam rising around his fingers as he hummed. When it turned bright green, he began pouring in the raw dog's milk. The glow brightened, drifted upward along the flow of Vorash's blood and coiled up his arm. Lance looked him in the eyes as the glow reached them, and soft storm grey was replaced by gleaming flourite green.

The demon's jaw dropped; he began wordlessly singing the melody of the spell instead. His fingers thickened and lengthened, and his claws gleamed icily silver. The new glow twined down the blade and swirled through the green-shining liquid in the wok. Vorash swayed; his hand dropped towards the wok, then steadied. His eyelids drooped, but his gaze stayed on Lance, who watched him slide into shock without a change of expression.

The green and silver light grew brighter with each cascading note, and each deepening sway of Vorash's shoulders. When the Orthus' eyes finally closed, it was accompanied by his fingertips dropping into the fluid in the wok. The hound beside them howled in agony and disappeared with a strangely final-sounding snap of bones.

Distracted by watching his face, Lance hadn't minded Vorash's hand. He kicked the dying man away from the camp stove as the green and silver light exploded outward and blinded him.

It felt like tumbling through a clothes dryer, like cartwheeling through a gauntlet while being beaten with bricks. Lance gripped the memory of Curtis' face close, repeating the other demon's name to himself as he fell. He lost his grip on which way was up, felt his hands shift back to normal, and desperately tried to orient himself.

The sudden dark after the brilliant green and silver of the spell threw him even further off kilter, and he didn't have enough spatial orientation to even get his hands in front of himself before the carefully-stitched crown of his head hit the edge of an asphalt road. He wasn't sure if the wetness he identified as he fell into unconsciousness was ichor or rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daska--little one


	30. What Was That Name Again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious stranger arrives in Dryreef with a head wound. Adam takes him in.

He woke up on a bed with an incredibly plush comforter that smelled vaguely of peaches, with a thick bandage wrapped around his head and a soft, damp cloth over his eyes. He groaned vaguely and lifted a hand, only to have his fingers caught by a calloused grip. “Easy,” his caregiver admonished gently, “you've got a pretty nasty head wound, here. I thought for sure you weren't going to make it.”

“I did not let him goo all over my dad's quilts just so you could watch him die,” the second voice came from further away, younger and sharper than the first, “so he'd better make it. Ask him if he's allergic to anything.”

“He just woke up, Keith, give him a minute,” the first voice sighed. “I'm sorry about him,” he said a little more softly, pushing his hand back down to his side, “he's mad that this room is being used for the purpose it used to always serve.”

“Nobody drugged him and he didn't smell like alcohol, this is not what my dad used it for,” the second grumbled, “and my hearing's almost as good as yours, so don't do that.”

They were just noise, swirling around his ears with no meaning, and he shook his head faintly. “Curtis,” he whispered, then tried to sit up, overcome with urgency and no reason behind it that he could recall, “I'm--”

“Hush, hush,” the first speaker pressed him firmly back down onto the couch, “it's okay. I'm Adam, that's Keith. Is that your name, Curtis? You're going to be okay. We're going to take care of you, I promise. You're going to be all right.” Those strong hands stroked his chest and shoulders until he relaxed with a whimper.

“He's not going to eat right now, is he,” he heard Keith ask as he spiraled back down into darkness.

His next bout of consciousness felt a little less dreamlike, and when he lifted the cloth from his eyes, it was night. He blinked down at the blond head resting against the couch cushions and turned his attention to the coffee table. There was a reusable water bottle there, and he reached for it carefully, trying not to wake the man who had dozed off sitting vigil on the floor.

He needn't have bothered. The instant his weight shifted, the blond sat up straight and picked up the bottle to hand it to him. He found himself blinking wordlessly into gloriously golden-brown eyes. The water tasted faintly of protein powder, but it wet his throat so he kept drinking. The blond gave him a half-awake smile. “How are you feeling?”

He started to frown and winced when it pulled on the wound under the bandage, lifting a hand to it and shaking his head. “Not great,” he admitted hoarsely, “kind of like someone tried to bash my brains in and kind of like someone tried to drown me.”

“Both are kind of accurate, but I don't think you have a specific person to blame. You got caught in a flash flood and I found you face down in a ditch. I think the water washed your feet out from under you and you hit your head on the blacktop. I'm Adam.” He offered his hand to shake and smiled again when it was awkwardly grasped with the hand not holding the water bottle.

“I'm--” He stopped, coming up against a blank behind a throb of pain from his head. “Uh. I think I have post-trauma amnesia? I don't remember my name.”

“You said the name 'Curtis,' earlier, when you were fading in and out. Could that be it?” Adam gave his fingers a little squeeze and got to his feet with a huff. “Are you hungry? Keith made you some peanut butter and peach preserve sandwiches, but I can make you something else if you're allergic.”

“Sandwiches sound great and easy on my stomach, thanks.” He offered a faint smile to the blond as he turned to go into the kitchen and retrieve the food, and found his eyes dropping as Adam walked away. “I'm...definitely hungry,” he muttered in distraction.

Adam shot him another smile over his shoulder. “I figured you'd need sex to heal some, but we should get some protein in you first, yeah? I've been doing research on demons—you are a demon, right? Do you remember that?”

The noise that escaped him when he closed his eyes to think about it was small and faintly insectile. “I...think so, yeah. That sounds...right?” His hand lifted to the top of his head to smooth over his hair, as if looking for horns. “Yeah. Demon. How did you know?”

“That head wound wasn't leaking blood,” the blond shrugged, bringing out a plate with two sandwiches on it and sitting on the coffee table to offer it, “I had to do some research, but I have an old school friend who has some really good and discreet contacts, and he helped figure it out. Took Keith for the night, too, in case you needed sexual energy uh, right out the gate.”

“What if you're not my type?” The demon asked in amusement, accepting the plate and sighing at the first bite. “These are good.”

“I guess I'm being a little presumptuous,” Adam admitted with a shrug, “but Keith's only seventeen and Gary's on the ace spectrum, and they're the only other two who ever come out here any more, so your options are, ah. A little limited.”

He could feel his hunger sharpening at the slightly self-deprecating smile, though his stomach was swiftly filling with the offered food. His jaw shifted in a way that had nothing to do with chewing, and he leaned forward slightly. “And you find me very attractive,” it wasn't a question.

“I usually try not to lust after unconscious men,” the blond informed him with a tip of his head, “but you are very, very pretty and your legs go on for years.” He didn't bother trying to break eye contact, and leaned in a little himself, though he used the pretext of double-checking the bandage to brush back the demon's hair. “Eat,” he commanded softly, “then feed.”

The demon wet his lips, then dropped his eyes to his plate and swallowed the bite of sandwich momentarily forgotten in his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he felt his mouth curling into a smile. He wrinkled his nose and snorted softly at the surge of hormones the submissive response earned him. “You aren't worried I'll hurt you?”

The silence went on a little too long, and he looked back up to see Adam giving him a surprisingly affectionate smile. “I'm a Dire wolf,” he explained, eyes flashing a little more gold, “and a Guardian. I've got more than enough energy to feed one demon and be fine. Besides, Gary's contacts said demons haven't killed anyone with a feeding in over five hundred years.”

“We had a whole civil war about it,” the demon murmured absently, distracted by Adam's hand petting through his hair. It took a moment for the words to register, and he blinked, then shook his head.

“So you have a few memories willing to surface, that's good. Probably means that in a couple of weeks, you'll have most of it back. Admittedly, I have no idea how post-traumatic amnesia works in demons, so I guess we'll just have to see. Is it all right if I call you Curtis?”

The demon shrugged, washing down a bite of sandwich with more water. “Gotta call me something, I guess, and it's the only thing I remember, so it's probably my name, yeah.” He tucked the bottle between his thigh and the couch to rub his palm over his face. “I don't—this is not how amnesia works,” he grumbled, frustrated.

“I would imagine it's different for everyone, Curtis,” Adam gently took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away, “don't stress yourself out about it. Your memories will come back in their own time, and if they don't, that's okay, too. You'll make new ones here, I'm sure.” He shook his head and let go to let the demon continue eating. “I can tell you a bit about the town, maybe something will help you remember why you came here. Don't get a lot of Divine around here because of the location.”

“A little local information couldn't hurt,” Curtis admitted, “can you start with who made these preserves, because they're perfect.”

“Oh, uh. I did, actually. It's Keith's dad's recipe, we jar...so much peach stuff every year together in his memory. The peach tree's definitely gone native to the RAD zone—don't worry, it's safe—because it's always fruiting and always flowering. Greg used to say it was reminding him that Dryreef is home.”

“Dryreef?”

“Ah, yeah. We're a Sanctuary? City full of Extrahumans and metahumans and demihumans, as well as having a sizable human population. Self-governed, mostly by the Guardians. We have a HOPE liaison, but he's an asshole. Spends half his time deliberately misunderstanding me or talking down to me because I'm 'just a kid.' I may not be the most experienced Guardian in the world, but I have been one since I was twelve, so--”

“Isn't...twelve a little young?” Curtis' squint reminded the babbling blond to slow down a little, and it earned the demon a brief, apologetic smile.

“Yeah, it is. But our last pair of Guardians died in a car crash and it isn't safe for a mixed-species community to be without for more than a few years. I was...the only Earthbound strong enough at the time. Greg said he was pretty sure I was going to be a Guardian anyway, but need awakened it early. Folks automatically started coming to me with their problems even though I was only twelve. Um. It kind of sucked, actually, but for a few years at least, I had Greg to help me out. He taught me a lot about taking care of people.” The blond offered another small smile, then got up and retrieved a picture from a bookshelf, settling it on Curtis' lap as he sat back on the coffee table.

The picture showed a handsome man with a strong, square jaw and eyes almost as dark as his black hair holding a toddler covered in peach pulp in his lap and a small blond of about eight holding out a stack of napkins. “That's Greg, and Keith, and me. One of Greg's firefighter buddies took that.”

Curtis smiled down at the candid, touching the frame carefully with a knuckle. “You make a cute family.”

“Yeah, he was like a big brother to me. Saved my life when I was maybe two? I kept running away from home to come here.” Adam shrugged, then set the picture aside. “Anyway. Basic history of the area. Dryreef was a little crossroads town until--” he paused, swallowing, and wet his lips, “until Phoenix. We ended up with most of the population that had been absent, and uh. A lot of Extrahumans driven out of their homes by people who believed HOPE when they said the ONL had done it.”

“I'm...sorry, I. The ONL?”

“Oh, uhm. The Organization for Nonhuman Life. They were officially declared a terrorist group in...twenty sixty-eight? The bombs hit Phoenix in twenty seventy-four. Nukes. Would have soaked the whole southwest in radiation, but uh. There was a lot of magic involved in corralling it, according to my lessons. Active spellwork, a lot of witches died holding it back until the tinkers could set up reflective shielding. Now, it's isolated to uh. Mostly what used to be Arizona.”

“But Dryreef survived?”

“Most of Arizona survived,” the blond said, a little dryly, “we just got irradiated. Anyway, HOPE said the ONL had done it, the ONL said HOPE had done it, Dryreef got used as a disaster relief hub and became a Sanctuary from there. We're kind of surrounded by highly irradiated desert, and we have some wicked RAD storms maybe twice a year. They used to be more frequent, but less intense, so I'm not sure if it's a great trade off.” He frowned thoughtfully down at his hands, falling silent, but looked up when Curtis reached out to gently touch his knee. “Sorry. It's a hard topic, you know? A lot of people died. So many people died. But it led to the negotiations that ended the war, so.”

“Everyone went into shock?”

The blond shrugged. “I guess. It was a little before my time. It's twenty-two sixteen now,” he clarified, seeming to remember why he was telling Curtis the history of the area, “and Dryreef's the second-biggest Sanctuary in North America by a very small margin. I don't know for sure, but I figure that might be why you came out here despite a longstanding local history with the fae. We've got a lot of thin spots from the fae war, and Divine magics tend not to do well around that, from what my research tells me.”

Curtis nodded thoughtfully, idly picking a seed off of the side of his bread. “Sounds plausible,” he admitted, “why not the biggest?”

“Montreal's the first place HOPE would look for a demon that crossed their radar and bolted,” Adam shrugged, “a smaller Sanctuary like Dryreef is less likely to be immediately searched while still being big enough to hide in, at least for a while. You're welcome to stay, of course. HOPE's no friend to anyone here.”

“And you're the Sanctuary's Guardian, so you get to say?” Blue eyes lifted to golden-brown, and Curtis' lips curled into a smile.

Adam's return smile was slow and twitchy, but genuine. “Yeah, pretty much.” He tipped his head and spread his hands. “Finish your sandwiches. I'll gather up supplies.”

The demon immediately dug into his pocket and pulled out a baggie containing several small foil packages. “Pretty sure I've got it handled.” He shrugged when the blond's eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. “I think carrying condoms and lube is a demon thing, probably.”

The Dire's lips lifted a little higher on one side. “Sounds plausible,” he admitted slowly, “I assume those are assorted sizes?”

It was Curtis' turn to raise both brows, looking his host over speculatively as he chewed. “They are,” his tongue darted out to sweep up a bit of stray peanut butter, and he noted how Adam's eyes dropped with the motion, “unless you need a specially ordered size?”

The wash of pheromones from Adam was almost overwhelming. Curtis felt himself sway slightly and let his eyes drift half closed to savor the heady scent. “I think I can manage to keep it under control.”

Curtis' eyes snapped open again. “Wait, sorry, what? Keep what under control? Your shapeshift?” He looked the blond over carefully. “How big are Dire wolves, again?”

Adam blushed all the way to his hairline. “I uh. Turn about the size of an SUV, in full shift. I'm not a stammering virgin, though, if you're totally worried about that. It's just...been a while, and usually I wait until there's a great deal of emotional involvement.”

“So you might get a little weird about it?”

“And I might get a little furry, but it's unlikely,” the golden-brown eyes took a couple of beats of silence to lift back to Curtis' face. The small smirk that twitched across his lips piqued the demon's interest. “Unless you ask me to.”

The tip of the demon's tongue caught between his teeth when he smiled. “Do you think you could actually do that without losing control?”

The laugh that burst from Adam's mouth was rough and a little hysterical. “Uh, no, no. Probably not, honestly. Damn, you just see right through every attempt I make at being smooth, huh?”

The blue eyes dropped behind thick lashes, then lifted back up with a softer smile. “I think I probably have an unfair advantage,” he admitted quietly, “but also, you're just...not good at being smooth. You should probably stop.” His smile grew back into a grin as Adam covered his face with his hands. “Like seriously, you're terrible. Give it up. Just be the awkward blushing not-quite-virgin. It suits you better.”

“It—uh. Can you tell that kind of thing?”

“Wh—oh, the virgin thing? No, no. It doesn't change you chemically or anything, so no, unless you haven't showered since you got ass, I cannot tell whether or not you're a virgin. I don't think so, anyway.” Curtis tipped his head slightly and wrinkled his nose. “Doesn't sound right.”

Adam bit down on the corners of his mouth, tamping down his smile. “You're really struggling with that amnesia, huh? I've heard you shouldn't force that kind of thing. Just let it come out.”

“It's really frustrating,” the demon raised his hands to his face, “and my head really hurts and those sandwiches were good but I'm _hungry._ ”

The Dire clicked his tongue and took the plate from him, setting it on the coffee table behind him. “Then why the hell are you stalling?” He asked, reaching up to hook his fingers around one dark wrist. The brilliant blue eyes were closed when he pulled Curtis' hand away.

“Because you don't want to and I'm not a fucking rapist,” he yanked his wrist away and curled in on himself with a growl.

“Wh—I have literally offered in as many words like, five times now and we've been flirting heavily for the past half an hour. What makes you think I don't want to?”

“Because I can smell you. Sure, you think I'm attractive and you'd like to get to know me better, but you are a thousand percent not a casual sex kind of person and I'm not going to let you put yourself through sex that you don't want just to help me heal.”

“Curtis--”

“And don't even ask about whether or not I can just use my abilities to get you into it because that's no better than slipping someone a drug, and again, _I'm not a rapist_.”

Adam lifted a finger, other hand over his mouth, and watched the demon's chest heave. “I was gonna say that's really sweet,” he offered, slightly muffled behind his hand, “is there a way for you to feed on me that doesn't involve sex?”

“Not that I'm familiar enough with to guarantee it wouldn't also hurt you, so no.” The demon stayed curled away from him and wrapped his arms around his legs.

The silence sat heavily for almost a solid minute before Adam got to his feet and picked up the dirty plate. “The long way it is, then,” he gave in, feeling the rich blue eyes bore into him as he crossed the room, “unless you want me to call someone who is into casual sex to come over?”

“I can live with the long way, it's just a cracked skull and some torn scalp. I'm just going to be cranky as long as I'm hungry, so I apologize in advance for that. Besides,” his lips twitched, and for a moment Adam saw the playful sparkle back in Curtis' eyes, “I hear werewolves dig scars.”

The blond didn't even try to stifle his laugh. “We tend to. We heal too quickly and thoroughly to get them for ourselves unless there's some kind of interference, like if the wound is cauterized or came from a weapon we react to.”

“Like something silver plated?”

“Not all weres are allergic to silver, that's a little bit of a misdirect,” Adam leaned in the doorway, watching the demon slowly uncurl, “personally, I'm allergic to nickel. Gives me horrendous muscle cramps and slows my healing drastically.” He flashed a smile when Curtis glanced back at him. “Plus, it turns my skin black.”

“Nickel? Damn, it must suck to make exact change.”

“I don't take change, solves a lot of things. Drives Keith nuts.”

“Yeah, you said something about this room had a purpose before? It's a little hazy.”

“This used to be the uh. 'Mother-in-law' cabin for his dad's house. The house itself burned down when Keith was eight, but this place survived. His dad used to leave it unlocked, and if someone at one of the local bars had a date that passed out before they could get them home, or if someone found someone who'd been drugged, they'd bring them here and leave them to sleep it off on the couch. Greg would bring them breakfast in the morning and drive them wherever they wanted to go. He kept a supply of evidence collection kits in one of the cabinets, they included blood drop tests for various drugs, and he was EMT certified so if necessary they were admissible in court. He actually organized a network for that kind of thing, taking care of people who had gotten too drunk or been targeted by dirtbags.”

“Sounds like an awesome guy, especially considering he rescued you and let you keep running back here. What happened to him?”

“He uh. Died in the fire that took the house. Got Keith out, went back in to get this...he called it a 'memory box,' it had mementos of Keith's mom in it. Her apron, the only photos he had of her, a couple of recipes she'd written down. He didn't make it back out with the box.” Adam found himself frowning at his own feet and shook his head. “She would have kicked his ass if she'd been around.”

Curtis pressed his lips together. “So he's an orphan?”

“Not any more. The Holt family adopted him a few years back, so now he's got a pair of very blond parents and two very blond siblings. Sometimes it makes him feel awkward so he comes out here, or to my place.”

“Your adoptive big brother's orphaned son became your adoptive little brother?”

“Considering the number of times he's come on to me, I really hope that's not how anyone sees it,” Adam made a face and crossed back over to sit on the floor next to the couch while Curtis laughed at him. “That boy wants desperately to be eighteen and he just makes faces at me when I tell him to slow down and enjoy being a kid. He's gonna give me gray hairs.”

“At least your hair's light enough it won't be noticeable,” Curtis offered with a smile, giving Adam a considering look.

“Yeah, I'm twenty-two, I'm not looking to go silver just yet.” The Dire preened a little under the thoughtful blue eyes and leaned back on his hands. “I can't offer to let you stay here indefinitely, but Keith said to tell you that you can lay low until you're healed. After that, if you still want to stay in Dryreef, we'll see what we can find you.”

“That's really...generous, of both of you. Thank you. He might change his mind about letting me stay until I'm healed when he hears I'm doing it the long way, though.” He reached up to gingerly touch the wound on his scalp and grimaced.

“Don't poke at it,” Adam scolded automatically, reaching out to pull his hand back down. “And don't worry about Keith. He's a good kid, with a soft heart despite all his grumbling. He won't get huffy about how long you take to heal.” He opened his mouth, paused, and winced. “He will probably offer--”

“You said he's a minor.”

“Yeah, he's seventeen.”

“Then that's a non-issue.”

Adam shook his head. “He's also only half human. His mom was an unidentified species of Extrahuman and we have no idea when he'll be...developmentally an adult?”

“Eighteen's still the basic guideline,” Curtis shrugged, “so it's what I'll use. Non-issue, Adam. I promise.”

“In the meantime, I can see what the Night Market has in the way of bottled energy--”

“It's really okay. You don't have to spend anything making sure I heal faster. It's a head wound, yeah, but it's relatively minor. And maybe I'll be around long enough for you to teach me how to make peach preserves with RAD peaches.” Blue eyes sparkled with good humor.

“They're the size of grapefruits, it's a little scary,” Adam gestured back towards the kitchen, “especially since they don't lose any of their flavor for it. The tree's out back, so when the sun comes up I can show you.”

“In the meantime,” Curtis gently preempted the next words out of the blond's mouth, “we should both rest. Does this couch pull out?”

“Probably,” Adam shrugged, “but the house has three bedrooms.”

The demon's head turned fully towards him a little more slowly than Adam was entirely comfortable with. “This house has three bedrooms,” the Cuban repeated softly, “and you were sleeping on the floor by the couch?”

“I hadn't intended to sleep,” was the sheepish admission.

“Bed.”

“Only if you also come so I can keep an eye on you. I'm still worried about your head wound, relatively minor or not.” He got to his feet and offered his hand with a smile.

Curtis looked him over for a long moment, then settled his hand in Adam's palm and let the were pull him to his feet. “You are determined to get me in bed tonight, huh?” He teased, curling his fingers in the blond's grip as their hands dropped. He watched Adam's flustered huff and swung their hands a little with a smile. “Come on, you blushing non-virgin,” he hummed, “lead the way to sleep. We'll figure out the rest later.”

“Won't it scar if--”

“Yeah, probably.” he gave his host a little nudge, then followed Adam as the motion prompted the blond to lead him down the hall. “You said this was a mother-in-law cabin?”

“Yeah.”

“Why in the blue fuck does it have three bedrooms?”

“I'm pretty sure this was the housing for the 'help' way back when,” Adam admitted, pushing open one of the doors in the hall, “the house was huge, definitely manor sized at least. Keith likes to joke that his dad bought an old cactus farm and planted a peach tree on it to remind it of its roots.”

“It was probably originally a cattle ranch in this part of the country, wasn't it?”

Adam paused, then looked thoughtfully over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he agreed slowly, “probably.”

“So probably a ranch hand house, instead of a mother-in-law cabin,” the demon nodded, squinting up at the facing of the door, “obviously renovated sometime after the...the Outing. Circa 2150, or so, but these were used somewhere else first.”

“Yeah, the wiring was redone after the main house burned down,” the blond's voice was a little subdued, and Curtis gently squeezed his fingers, “so I know it's silly to ask, but are you all right with me taking off my pants? I don't think I can sleep in jeans.”

“You can sleep naked for all I care,” Curtis told him gently, “it will change neither my attitude nor my decision.”

“I think I can manage boxers, at least,” the words were laced with laughter, and Adam dropped his hand to peel off his shirt. Despite the ease the demon's jokes brought him, he avoided Curtis' eyes after he stripped to his underwear and hurried under the covers on the bed. “So are you into architecture?” He asked, slightly muffled from the edge of the quilt resting against his mouth.

Curtis politely kept his attention on the accents of the room until Adam was fully hidden, then gave him a smile and laid down beside him on top of the quilt. “I think I'm close with someone who likes it, or something? This doesn't feel like an interest of mine, just something I know things about.” He turned onto his side and reached up to gently pat Adam on the head, then flipped the switch on the wall above their heads. “Go to sleep, Adam.”


	31. Pages From A Seven-Year Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimpses into the life Curtis and Adam made together.

“It isn't just something you can decide!” Despite the attempt at indignation, the words were shredded with laughter. “I do like them, it's just--”

“Oh good, so instead of worrying about you not liking pears to the point you induce a histamine reaction, I have to worry about you trying to shove them in your face to induce anaphylaxis!” Adam cackled right back, moving one of the bowls on the picnic table and shoving it into the hands of Gary Iverson, who looked like he'd suffered just about enough of them. “This is dangerous. We can't even fill out a 'please don't bring these allergens' on an invitation to a potluck.”

“Listen, I also have no desire to end up in the ER again,” Curtis lifted his hands, though the brilliant blue eyes tracked the gelatin dish wistfully, “if I could remember my medical history, I promise I'd share it with you, Adam.”

“Three, two, one,” Iverson muttered as the demon's cheery expression slowly crumbled.

“If I could remember anything, I'd share it with you,” the words came out mournful.

Adam leaned forward and took one of Curtis' hands. “Hey, come on, it's--”

“Oh, for fuck's sake, stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Gary snapped, shoving the bowl at Keith, who immediately shoved his hand into the gelatin and levered a glob of the chunky substance into his mouth. “'Boo hoo, my name is Curtis and I can't remember my life before six months ago,' so fucking what? You have a life here now. Live it instead of crying over blank space, you dramatic bitch.”

“Gary!” Adam started to his feet, outraged and fully certain he was about to punch his friend in the face. Curtis lunged across the table to grab his wrist, and he stopped. The demon's smile washed away the flash of rage in an instant.

“He's right,” the Cuban informed him, smiling up into the were's golden-brown eyes, “I should focus on the life I have here. It's a pretty damned good one. I just got a job at the Garrison, after all, and it's nice to be in a house with a reliable water heater.” He flashed Keith a cheeky grin, and the teen mumbled something ungracious. “Even with the intensely loud renovations in the basement at all hours of the day.”

“You're not nocturnal,” Katie scooped cooked meats onto the waiting platter on the table and turned to head back to the grill, “what's the big deal?”

“Hey, kiddo, are you going to cook everything you brought? Seems like a lot of food for less than a dozen people, even with Keith here.”

“Hey!” The brunette objected, looking up from the now nearly-empty bowl.

Katie flashed them a smile. “Clearly you've never seen Opossum eat the day after a cryptid hunt,” she singsonged, picking up the grill tongs and clacking them twice before she even set down the empty dish in her other hand. She ignored Keith's repeated cry of outrage. “So, what's the big deal about the construction noise?”

“Well, I guess it's not so much of a big deal now that I won't be home all day,” the demon admitted with a smile, “but when it's all you can listen to without blasting out your eardrums, it gets tedious.”

“It takes a lot of work to reinforce everything enough for something like me,” Adam mumbled, a little self-consciously.

“Oh, no, that's not what I object to,” Curtis gently tugged him back down into his seat with another bright smile, “you know I am an absolute sucker for the way you turn into a gloriously handsome wolf the size of a bull moose.”

“Gross,” Katie interjected into the quiet as the two smiled at each other.

“You're still having headaches,” Iverson's tone wasn't a question.

“A little less intense, but yeah. You all right? You don't usually announce things unless you're in pain.”

Gary scrunched his face up and held up his phone before setting it forcefully facedown on the table. “My father won't stop calling me to remind me to leave my mother a message wishing her a happy birthday, and to make sure it's in Greek.”

“Wouldn't that...potentially endanger her life?” Adam squinted up at him.

“He didn't handle the divorce well.” The telepath took a seat beside the blond with a sigh.

“It was twenty-three years ago.”

“He really didn't handle the divorce well.” His deadpan tone never changed.

Curtis lifted a finger and tipped his head at Iverson curiously.

“My mother's a gorgon. If they have male children, we're supposed to be immediately killed and eaten because we aren't gorgons ourselves, but we can pass it on to our daughters, potentially releasing untrained young gorgons on the world. Failure to do so is punishable by death, even for their queen.” He rubbed at his temples, but shook his head at the demon's clear mental inquiry.

“But if they let you guys grow up with the...clan?”

“They prefer 'sorority,' but close enough.”

“Right. They'd be able to keep tabs on you and also your daughters.”

“Longstanding traditions are often bereft of logic and reason,” Gary glanced up as Keith set an opened soda in front of him, and gave the teen a brief nod before wrapping both hands around it and nursing it slowly.

“So...you're half-Greek?” Curtis asked after a few moments.

“Brilliantly deduced.”

“I'm...sorry. I just though you were like...a really tanned up white guy.” Bright blue eyes looked him over curiously. “Being half Gorgon explains the skin, though.”

“Curtis!” Adam sputtered, reaching out to swat at the demon. He stopped when Curtis nodded to Gary's faint smile.

“It is my understanding that a lot of people with Greek heritage living in America are mistaken for white,” the telepath said gruffly, the skin around his eyes crinkling in amusement, though his smile remained very small, “and quite a few people with Greek heritage living in America call themselves white. My father is white, and moneyed, and raised me, so culturally I consider myself white. And the skin is mostly because I cannot bring myself to bathe in olive oil and rosemary three times a week.”

“Is...is that a Gorgon thing?”

“No, I just have really bad skin, and I don't want to smell like a holiday roast.” Gary glanced over at Adam, who picked up plates and loaded them with food for himself, Curtis, and Keith, then gave Gary a small nod. The telepath put a small amount of food on a plate, then set it in front of him and settled a cover over it. He tipped his head at Curtis. “I appreciate the distraction. You can go back to colors now.”

“Any time.” Curtis gave him a bright smile and dug into his food with a delighted wiggle down his spine.

Adam glanced between the two of them curiously, then set to his own food with a private, pleased smile.

*****

“I'm not saying it's a bad genre, babe, I'm just saying I prefer some breaks between musical abuse of my emotions, so I prefer musicals over operas.” Curtis leaned on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and smiled at the three piled comfortably on the couch.

“Katie wants to watch--”

“Don't drag me into this,” the tiny blonde objected, “I'd rather watch something with no music at all. You cannot stop yourself from howling along for two and a half hours.”

“I am not 'howling along,'” Adam yelped, offended, “I am...harmonizing. Trust me, kiddo, when I howl, the whole neighborhood will know it.”

“And they do,” the demon hummed, immediately turning to retrieve the bag of popcorn as the microwave beeped, then setting up another.

“ _Gross_ ,” Katie whined.

“There is no reason in the world you should have gotten that joke.”

“Adam, my best friend is most well known for biting off a social worker's finger and humping a pinball machine, I understand way more dirty jokes than I should at my age and level of interest,” she sighed, then leaned around Adam to peer at Keith, who was tucked securely against the Dire's side and fast asleep. “Told you he was tired.”

“What happened today that he's so exhausted, sweetheart?” Adam gently stroked back her hair. “He wouldn't tell me. Wouldn't even let Curtis put something on his eye.”

She shrugged. “He got in a fight today, I guess. He's got fresh bites on the back of his neck, too, so I'm assuming he was going at it with somebody and someone else objected. He'll tell me later. He doesn't usually cry about those things, though, so I think his crush was involved.”

“Oh no, the one he's been talking about?” Curtis looked in again as he emptied the readied popcorn into a giant bowl. “With the 'soul-piercing eyes' and the 'kiss me senseless lips'?”

“Oh. My. God. He's been reading Matt's stash of terrible old romance novels again,” she groaned, lifting a couch pillow and putting it over her face. She muffled a second, more heartfelt groan into it, then dropped it to her chest to hug it tightly. “Yeah, that's the one. I don't know who it is but Keith says he's so deep in the closet he's on the other side of Narnia--”

“What the hell's a Narnia?” The demon muttered, but waved a hand to apologize for the interruption.

“It's from a series of books that was old when the Outing happened,” she shrugged, “alternate world, accessible through a closet. Anyway, the point is, his crush is closeted big time and Keith is...”

“The town gay slut?” Adam suggested fondly, running his palm over Keith's hair.

“Which given the current attitudes globally on slut-shaming, is impressive,” was the addition from the kitchen.

Katie nodded a little awkwardly. “So yeah, I dunno for sure, but evidence suggests he got laid, got in a fight, and also cried. Beyond that, he's not gonna be ready to tell me until tomorrow at the earliest.” She shrugged, letting the silence drag on until the microwave beeped again and Curtis added the fresh bag of popcorn to the bowl before joining them on the couch. She leaned comfortably against the demon and took the bowl into her lap. “For the record, I'd prefer an action movie.”

“No explosions while Keith is sleeping,” Adam and Curtis reminded her in unison.

She sighed. “Right. We don't make him wake up to fire, even if it's on a tv. But no musicals— _or_ operas.”

Both men exchanged a look. “Dramatic fantasy?” Curtis suggested hesitantly.

“Usually involves dragons or mages,” Adam shook his head, “wacky romcom?”

“You always want to watch those,” the demon clicked his tongue.

The blond shrugged. “I think love is neat,” he said mildly, then shot the demon a small smile over Katie's head. The look lingered.

“I can hear you guys being mushy over my head,” she grumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. “What about something animated? Talking animals.”

“...We haven't seen the new remake of 'Tsani's Journey,'” Curtis agreed slowly.

“Okay, heartfelt journey of self-discovery by a RAD hyena it is,” Adam lifted the remote, selected the movie, and hit play. As his arm settled back over Katie's small form, his fingers brushed Curtis' hair, and the two men shared another private smile as the lights dimmed

 

*****

 

“I was thinking,” Adam said slowly, waiting to continue until Curtis looked up from his book, “that you've asked me to mount you in my wolf form a few times now, but you haven't let me see you in your...less human form. I'm...worried that it's because you don't entirely trust me, or what my reaction will be to seeing you that way.” He swallowed at the intense regard of the beautiful blue eyes he'd come to love, and wet his lips nervously. “I wanted to tell you that it's okay, if you don't ever want me to see you like that, but that if you did show me I won't...I won't freak out. I know that no matter what you look like, you're Curtis, and...and nothing is more beautiful to me than that. Than you.”

The demon gave him a soft smile and tucked the bookmark into his book, setting it aside. “Adam, I haven't shown you my full demon form because I haven't been able to shapeshift. I'm not worried that you'll think I'm ugly or something. I'd like to think I know you a little better than that. I'm...I'm not feeding enough to shift. I'm not being underfed,” he assured hastily, seeing the guilt that flashed on the Dire's face, “it's just that it'll take some time to build everything back up. And I don't think that the injury was...the only thing that went wrong that night. I was weak, Adam, really super weak. I still am, and it's going to take me some time. I don't know how long.” He held his hand out to the were, and smiled when the blond laced their fingers together and curled against his side.

“It's not a big...thing,” Adam said quietly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Curtis' hand, “I just didn't like the thought of you not trusting me.”

“Hey,” the demon brought their hands up to press a kiss to Adam's knuckles, “I do trust you. From the moment I woke up to your voice, I trusted you, and that hasn't changed. I,” he looked down at the closed book on the arm of the couch and swallowed, “I know it isn't the kind of thing someone expects to hear from...from something like me--”

“Don't say it like that.” Adam objected gently.

“Please let me finish,” Curtis gave him another little smile, “I know it's...out of place. But I think I'm falling in love with you, Adam. I never want you to think I don't trust you, too.”

The Dire made a small sound in the back of his throat, his expression slowly fading from shock into a wide grin. “In that case, probably it's time you started calling me by my name. 'Adam' is easier on the tourists--”

“The Holts call you Adam, and they've lived here for generations,” the Cuban looked confused.

“Not as many as my family has,” the blond told him evenly, and watched Curtis slowly nod. “My name is Qochata.”

“Oh, that's a whole new sound, so it might take a little practice.” He grimaced and raised Adam's hand to his lips again. “But I promise I'll make it up to you every time I get it wrong...Qochata.”

“Mm, that was closer than most people get on their first try,” Adam straightened out his fingers, tucking them under Curtis' jaw and tipping up his head, “but the good news is, that means you can start making it up to me right now.”

The bright blue eyes dropped slightly, then rolled up under thick, dark lashes. “What did you have in mind?” He asked sweetly.

 

*****

 

The front door opened and closed hours earlier than expected, and Curtis hurried to the kitchen doorway to intercept his boyfriend in the living room. “Hey, _tatam_ , you're home early,” he greeted, slightly out of breath, “is everything okay?”

Adam dropped his laptop bag with a thump that made Curtis wince and strode forward to cup one hand against the demon's cheek while the other pressed it's back to his forehead. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said, also sounding slightly out of breath and a little rough, “Gary said you went home early, and with that Venetian water flu going around, I worried--”

“Oh, no, babe, hey,” Curtis gently took both his wrists and pressed a kiss to the knuckles of each hand, “that's entirely Gary not being great at communication and you forgetting your anxiety meds this morning. I scheduled this a month ago, as a half day. I was,” he laughed a little self-consciously, releasing one of Adam's hands to gesture to the kitchen, “making you dinner. Last year, the anniversary of you rescuing me fell on a full moon so we didn't get to spend it together, but this year, I wanted to celebrate. I figured a nice home-cooked meal, a couple of movies, some wine, some lingerie I've been hiding--”

“You had me at food, but this is getting good.” Adam grinned, a little flushed.

“It gets better,” Curtis promised, then leaned in to give the blond a lingering kiss. When they pulled apart, they shared a lazy smile before the brunette turned to head back to the kitchen, giving Adam a look at the undeniable fact that he wasn't wearing anything but the apron covering his front.

“Hell yeah it does,” the were muttered, following enthusiastically.

“Hey, do you ever get messed up about not being able to have chocolate because it might kill you, but you can drink alcohol just fine?” The Cuban asked, stirring something in a pot on the stove before bending down to check on the contents of the oven.

“Yeah, I hear chocolate's really good to most people,” Adam agreed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe to appreciate the view, “but I still get my cheap sugar wine, so I figure if I had to lose something, I can live without chocolate. It is a weird quirk of biology, though.”

“I still don't know how you can drink that stuff, much less enjoy it,” Curtis gave him a smile over his shoulder.

“Well, you can't taste tannins and as I understand it most young demons eat literal garbage, so,” he tipped his head and let his eyes drop over the bare curve of Curtis' rear, “I don't think you get to talk smack about it, _tatam_.”

“That's an awful thing to say,” Curtis gave him a pout and turned down the heat on the stovetop, “I am way too classy to eat garbage.”

“There is a whole list of words I would use to describe you, but I'm not entirely sure 'classy' is one of them.” Adam straightened up, crossing the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps, and slid his hands across the top of Curtis' pelvis. “This is hardly an outfit that embraces it.” He settled his chest against the demon's shoulderblades and let one hand slide down and forward, under the quilted fabric of the apron. He pressed his face behind the brunette's ear when he gasped. “Am I distracting you, _tatam_?”

“That depends, did you want our anniversary dinner to burn?” Curtis rasped, shifting against his touch.

“Oh, poor baby. Can you not concentrate on your task with a little—mm. Well, hardly little, I suppose, hm? With a perfectly-sized distraction? It smells delicious, it would be a pity to ruin all your hard work.” He caught the edge of Curtis' ear between his teeth and growled at his boyfriend's stifled whine. “The sauce is starting to bubble,” he rumbled, “better stir it.”

“Is this something we're doing now?” The demon managed breathlessly, obediently picking up the spoon to stir the sauce.

The blond paused. “I will stop, if this crosses a line.”

“No lines,” Curtis hummed, shifting his feet a little further apart, “but if you make me come on the stovetop, it counts as your fault and you're cleaning it up.”

“I am remarkably on board with that,” the Dire agreed.

 

*****

 

“I said, I'm fine, I don't need--”

“Sir, you were bitten by a werewolf,” the ER nurse told him sharply, “if we don't get these anti-virals into you before sunrise--”

“I'm immune,” he told her bluntly, settling a hand on her wrist, “I'm a demon. How's the wolf that bit me? Is she okay?”

“She's in isolation, sir, but her wounds appear to be healing nicely. She should be fine.” She gave him a small smile, a faint flash of teeth a little too jagged to be human, and patted his hand in turn. “You have a need to rush home?”

“My boyfriend's the Dire, he'll be worried. When you can do so safely, please check her for spells or drugs that might have increased her libido, I think she was trying to get in to mate with him. It's very out of character for her, even while shifted. Evaline's eighty-six years old and makes us casserole once a week to tell us we're like sons to her.” He nodded as she left, then hopped down from the hospital bed to remove the gown and start pulling on his clothes. He lifted his head sharply at a sound from the doorway and let out a rattling hiss.

Keith raised his hands, a red glass flask gleaming in one. “Gary said you got hurt,” he said slowly, “and I knew you wouldn't accept an offer from me so I brought you some bottled from the Market. It's not mine,” he reassured hastily, then held it out. “You look like hell. Who knew Gran Evy had so much fight in her?”

“I think she got exposed to something meant for Adam,” Curtis shook his head, but accepted the flask, uncorked it, and downed the contents with a shudder. His body seemed to shimmer a moment before his wounds began to close. “Thank you, Keith.” He set the glass down on the hospital bed and ruffled the younger man's hair, then pulled him into a hug. “I'm okay,” he reassured into the thick, coarse hair.

Keith clung to him a moment, fingers fisting in the back of his open button up shirt, then sniffled and leaned back. “You think someone tried to drug Adam?”

“Yeah, and we're going to find out who, because whatever it was made Evaline a lot stronger than she should be, even in wolf form. You and Katie can investigate this on the down-low, right? I don't have to worry about the two of you confronting people in dark alleys?”

“We live in Arizona, there are no dark alleys,” Keith blew his bangs out of his eyes to give Curtis a dry look, “and we can be subtle! Katie and I can be so subtle. No one we follow will ever know we're there.”

“If you two get caught it's all our asses. You know how Adam gets.” Curtis cupped his hand around the back of Keith's head and gently bumped their foreheads together, then gave him a playful push. “Thanks for the pick-me-up, now go on. Don't let the Holts catch you out at this hour.”

“I'm eighteen now,” the younger man grumbled.

“And on a strict curfew at a military academy.”

“Gary _sent_ me. Least he can do is cover me for bed-checks.”

“Keith--”

“I'm going, I'm going.” The shorter man turned to leave, then paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Curtis?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm really glad you're okay. I've...lost enough family.” He bolted before the demon could look up from buttoning his shirt.

 

*****

 

“You can't do this to me!” The human screamed, thrashing against the ropes that held him staked to the ground. “I am a HOPE representative, my organization will--”

Curtis cut him off by shoving a soaking wet rag between his teeth. “Your organization thanked us for not publicly drawing and quartering you, which is the listed punishment for someone attempting to poison a Guardian,” the demon told him reasonably, “they had no intention of shielding you from any punishment at all.”

“You will have shade during the hottest parts of the day,” Adam gestured to a nearby cactus, “it will give HOPE up to thirty-six hours to rescue you, barring interference from the local wildlife. The water in the rag will not evaporate, so you have some fluids, at least.” He crouched beside the staked man and leaned over his head. “Your attempt to poison me harmed another werewolf, an elderly woman who often picks through my greenhouse for herbs for her cooking, as well as my boyfriend, who had to subdue her after she broke into my home. I have already asked my ancestors to see that your organization leaves you here to be eaten by the radiation, if not the wildlife.” He got to his feet and dusted off his hands, giving his boyfriend a once-over and a nod. “I'll be in the van.” He walked away.

Curtis reached into his pocket and pulled out an unassuming red flower, the sight of which made the man beneath him yell against the rag and thrash a little more desperately. “Ah, so you recognize your choice of poison, do you? Good. Then you'll appreciate the little charm I had put on it.” He hooked a finger in the man's cheek and shoved the flower along side it. “No added strength, but aside from that, this will effect you the way it would a werewolf.” He smirked and flicked his eyes down between the man's legs, where he could see his groin already stirring. “I understand that for humans, maintaining an erection that long is not only very painful, but potentially harmful. I guess we'll see, won't we? Or, well,” he leaned closer to whisper in his ear and pat his shoulder, “you will.”

The demon got back to his feet and headed for the van, climbing in with a cheerful greeting to his boyfriend and the two teens in the back. “Who wants ice cream?”

 

*****

 

“Another black eye, cub?” The tone was sympathetic, but Curtis was hardly expecting Keith to throw himself shaking into his arms while the front door stayed wide open. “Oh. Okay. All right. Let's get your shoes off, that's right.” He gave Adam a small jerk of the head, and the blond got up to close the door as Curtis gently scooped up the teenager and carried him upstairs. “I've got you, sweetheart,” he reassured quietly, and held Keith a little closer when the younger man responded with a broken sob. He carried Keith into one of the spare rooms upstairs and sat on the quilt, swinging his legs up before settling the younger man into the hollow of his crossed legs and pressing a kiss to his hair. He glanced up with a smile when Adam came in with a glass of water and left it on the bedside table, holding Keith and gently rocking him while he cried. When he started to quiet down, Curtis offered him the glass of water and the time to regain a little composure, and Adam returned again with a damp washcloth to wipe his face.

They sat with him in relative silence, offering just their presence and the illusion, at least, that they couldn't see him well enough in the semi-dark to have seen him cry. Finally, after a few shaky breaths, the younger man managed to speak. “There's...this guy, in my class. He's really attractive and I've been trying...to figure out a way to flirt with him, because you told me I should stop punching people for that.”

They both hummed an agreement. Curtis stroked his hair while Adam rubbed small circles over his back, and Keith took another sip of water to ease his tightened throat. “Today he asked me if I was only sent to military school because my mom and dad couldn't stand to have me around anymore. I punched him,” the words were pushed out over Adam's low growl and the sudden unexpected rattle of Curtis' hiss, “but I got suspended again and I couldn't...I can't tell Sam about this, he'll drive the guy out of the Garrison.”

“And telling Colleen would be worse,” Curtis agreed quietly.

“I don't want him dead, fuck.” Keith took a loud gulp of water and buried a coughing fit in Curtis' shoulder.

“So you came to us.”

“You guys won't take it out on him, and if one of you takes him aside to talk to him about it, I know that it won't be to quietly kill him and feed him to the RAD cacti.”

“Still kind of fucks with me that she can just walk up to those and then walk away,” Curtis admitted, sharing a small smile with Adam at the choked laugh against his shoulder. “You willing to tell us who it was, or is Adam going to resort to digging into school files to find out who got suspended with you today?”

Keith sniffled and rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “James,” he accepted the damp washcloth from Adam and scrubbed at his face with it, “um, Griffin?”

Adam lifted his head and sniffed, then got to his feet with a look to Curtis and headed down the stairs as the doorbell rang. The demon pressed another kiss to the younger man's head. “Try not to fly off the handle, okay?” He murmured, arms briefly tightening around Keith. “He might be here to apologize.”

“I don't want his apology,” the younger brunette hissed.

“You don't have to accept it,” Curtis reassured, “but probably you should hear—Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

James Griffin paused in the doorway, duffel bag in one hand and Adam's sleeve in the other, and turned his swollen, bruised face away at the demon's startled epithet. “I shouldn't have come,” he mumbled, nearly unintelligible as he released Adam's sleeve and started to back away, “I shouldn't have come, I'll just go--”

Keith left the empty water glass to roll on the carpet as he launched himself forcibly out of Curtis' lap to grab the other cadet by the shoulders. “ _Who did this to you?!_ ” He snarled. Adam grabbed his shoulders and chuffed when the smaller Extrahuman bared a solid ridge of upper teeth at him.

“I take it it wasn't you,” Curtis said quietly, unfolding himself from the bed and picking up the glass to put it back on the bedside table.

“I didn't hit him in the face!” The half-shifted youth yelped, not releasing Griffin but startled enough to loosen his grip a little.

“Keith,” Adam said firmly, still holding his shoulders, “let him go. He's scared enough.”

“He--” startled purple eyes turned back to James, then abruptly released him with a small push. Adam freed one hand to catch him with an arm around his shoulders. “You scared of me, Griffin?”

The other cadet drew in on himself, then puffed out his chest. “Nobody's afraid of you, you toothy tinselpuff, you hit like a soft breeze,” he scoffed, “I just...don't want the Professor to kick me out just because you can't control your stupid face.”

“I'll make up a second guest room,” Curtis offered quietly.

“No!” Griffin flinched back from the force of his own objection. “I mean, don't go to the trouble, sir. We share rooms in the Garrison, it might feel weird to try to sleep alone. Providing Holt can keep his hands to himself.”

Keith leaned into his face, glowing eyes taking in every scrape and bruise before locking with cool brown. “My last name is Kim. Not Holt.” He looked up at Adam. “I started the fight,” he admitted, “Griffin was an asshole but I threw the first punch. He shouldn't be suspended...Professor.”

“I'll ask the Commander to review the case with me in the morning,” the Dire gave him a small nod, then smiled and touched his hair, “and I'm proud of you for taking responsibility for your actions, Keith. You boys sort out sleeping arrangements like civilized monsters, we'll dig out some extra blankets and pillows.” He gave them both a gentle push into the room, and waited until Curtis had gently hugged both teens before leading the demon downstairs. “We have a balm somewhere, don't we, _tatam_?”

“I'll get it,” Curtis sounded subdued, and Adam frowned after him as he disappeared into the downstairs hall bathroom. When they met up again, Adam shifted the blanket and pillows to one arm and caught Curtis by the elbow. He let the silence drag on. Curtis blinked away tears and dragged in a shaky breath. “They hurt that boy for getting suspended, Qochata. Even Keith knows who did that.”

“I know, _tatam_.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” The question was still soft-spoken, and Adam found himself hating the faint tremble in the demon's lower lip.

He hesitated, and hated the words even as he said them. “It's a family matter, Curtis. It's none of our business.”

When the blue eyes he loved so much lifted back to his face, they looked like cracked glaciers in an endless void, and the Dire took a step back in surprise. “ _Are you the damned Guardian or aren't you, then_?” Curtis shoved past him to head up the stairs, leaving him to scramble desperately after him.

When he caught up with him in the upstairs hallway, flexing his blanched fingers, Curtis was standing in the doorway of the open guest room with a small smile on his face. He held up one finger to Adam as he approached. “I don't think we'll be needing those,” he whispered.

The Dire peered around the doorway. James was curled into a tight ball on the bed with Keith pressed to his back, face buried in the other cadet's shoulder. He set down the pillows, carefully shook out the blanket, and laid it over the young men as Curtis crept in to set the balm on the bedside table where James would see it as soon as he woke. They swung the door closed behind them, and Adam tried to share a soft smile with his boyfriend, only to have it met with another freezing look from cracked-glacier eyes.

“I think you should sleep in the basement tonight,” Curtis informed him, before turning to go back downstairs.


	32. End The Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time loop finally breaks, and now the consequences of time magic must be dealt with.

He jerked upright with a gasp, one hand reaching out for Adam automatically. His husband made a questioning sound, sitting up to wrap his arms around him and press a kiss to his shoulder. “What's wrong, _tatam_?” He asked quietly. “You're shaking like a leaf.”

“Bad dream,” Curtis managed raggedly, turning in Adam's arms and burying his face against the blond's neck, “it's fading now.” He lifted his head at the faint sound of an approaching motorcycle. “They're here for the Guardian,” he sighed, then shook his head and gave Adam a smile and a kiss to the cheek. “Go on; I'll be okay.”

“You'll tell me what it was?” Adam asked softly, sliding out of bed reluctantly and pulling a pair of lounge pants on over his boxers.

“I'll write down what I remember,” his husband reassured with a smile.

Adam got to the door as the first knocking started, swinging it open and blinking at the nine-foot tall blue demon trying to hide behind a cadet two-thirds his height. “Come in, before the neighbors see you,” he stepped aside to allow them entry and bit his lip when the demon caught the curl of his horn on the doorframe and had to be gently guided through the hall to prevent him from knocking the framed pictures off the walls.

He motioned them into the living room and followed them in, pausing in surprise when the demon, now seated on the floor, looked up at him with frightened blue eyes he knew as well as his own pulse. “Tell me what's wrong,” he turned his head to the other cadet without taking his eyes off the blue-skinned teen on the carpet.

“He says he can't shift back, Professor,” the young man said in a rush, “he shifted to this while we were sleeping and he says he can't get it to go back.”

“Okay,” Adam settled his hands on the young man's shoulders, “take a deep breath. It's Garrett, right?”

“Yes sir, Hunk Garrett, and this is Lance. Atrillo. He's my roommate.”

“Right, Atrillo. You arrived the night before classes started.”

“Yes, Professor,” the demon agreed quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest, “sorry to get you out of bed at this hour, sir.”

“We were already awake, Atrillo, and as the Sanctuary's Guardian, it's my job to help out whenever any of the people living here need it.” Adam guided Hunk to the couch and glanced towards the hall, where Curtis stood staring at the younger demon with wide eyes.

Slowly, haltingly, Curtis' attention turned to his husband. “I'll make some tea,” he suggested quietly, giving the two cadets a flicker of a smile, “and see what I can dig up for protein. A shift like that takes a lot out of you.”

“Honestly, Mister Whitehorse, I could just eat peanut butter with a spoon if you have any,” Lance admitted, wings flicking with sudden relaxation. The smile he sent the other demon's way made Adam watch them closely.

“We always have peanut butter,” Curtis assured him, “I'll make you some spiced tea and stir in some protein powder, okay?”

“Oh, that sounds really good, thanks.”

“And Lance?”

“Yes, Mister Whitehorse?”

“It's Qöötsakawayo, not Whitehorse. I don't translate our last name, even for tourists.” He gave the younger demon a small nod at the hasty agreement. “It'll take you a little time to say properly, and that's okay. But it's important to make an effort.” He lifted his eyes to Adam again for a moment, then headed into the kitchen.

“It might also take some time to figure out how to encourage your shift to go away,” Adam told Lance gently, settling himself on the coffee table, “do you need a place to stay in the meantime? Our doorways aren't meant for the way your horns sit,” he shared a smile with the young demon, “but we can find you a place with nice wide doorways and halls. It'll probably be a little out of the city limits, but I don't want you to think that we're exiling you.”

“I know you're just trying to do your best to help, Professor,” Lance assured him.

“All right, I'll see what I can find, and I have a van, so I can take you there. You should get back to the Garrison after you've calmed down a little, Garrett,” he patted the cadet's shoulder gently.

“Yes, sir,” the human said, a little subdued.

“Hey,” Lance got up slightly and scooted around the coffee table to put a clawed hand on Hunk's knee, “thanks, man. You're the best. Seriously.”

“You'd have done the same for me,” he said with a a soft, affectionate smile.

“Well, yeah, but I'm also the best, so like, obviously.” The demon's grin was crooked and wide, and pulled a laugh of agreement from the other cadet.

Curtis came in with a tea tray and set it on the coffee table, chasing his husband from the space with a click of his tongue. “I've messaged Commander Iverson, he's written you as excused from bed checks for tonight, Hunk, and Lance, you're marked as on leave for the time being.” He lightly smacked Adam's hand when the Dire reached for a mug, and served both cadets first. “You two relax, now, Qochata and I are going to make a few plans in the other room. There are some logistics we have to discuss.” He straightened up and took Adam's elbow to usher him from the room.

They stepped out the back kitchen door and closed it behind him. “ _What the everloving blue fuck, Qochata, that's_ _ **me.**_ ”

“ _ **I fucking know that**_ _._ I smelled him. I know your scent, Curtis. And your eyes. And by know I know pretty damned well the shape and color of your horns. _What the fuck_.”

“He knows you're a professor at the Garrison, at least.”

“I made the entry speech this year, they all know I'm a professor at the Garrison. He's not one of my students. I didn't...see a younger you in a classroom and keep this from you, _tatam._ ” He gathered Curtis' flailing hands in his own and brought them to his lips.

“No, I didn't—I didn't think you had, love. Just. The bad dream I had...I think it has to do with this. With him. Or, me?” He shook his head and rubbed at the scar by his hairline. “Oof, I have a headache now.”

Adam gently pulled his husband into his arms and pressed a kiss to his hair. “I'm here, my love,” he assured in a whisper, “I'll do everything I can to protect you.”

“No!” The demon's head jerked up, and his eyes were wet when they met the Dire's. “Protect _him._ ” He grabbed the collar of Adam's shirt, ignoring the sound of his growing claws puncturing fabric. “Promise me, Qochata. Promise me that no matter what happens, regardless of everything else, promise me you will make sure he's safe.”

Adam's brows raised, and he settled his hands over Curtis', gently disentangling them from the torn fabric and lifting them to his lips. The action brought a faint flush to his husband's face, but the demon's determined stare didn't waver. “I promise, _tatam_. I'll do everything in my power to look after him.”

 

*****

 

“My husband turns into a wolf the size of a van and isn't vers,” Shiro could see both of Curtis' brows raise politely as Adam blushed furiously behind him, “sometimes full bug is a survival mechanism.”

“ _Curtis!_ ” Adam pulled his husband forward at a faster pace as Curtis laughed in delight. “You can't just—don't just say things like that,” he gurgled, but let it fall into soft laughter as the demon hummed and curled against his side. “I love you so much,” he pressed a kiss to the soft brown hair, “are you sure about this, my love? Absolutely, one hundred percent sure?”

The demon gave him a soft smile and patted his chest. “Absolutely, one hundred percent sure, **nel'ako**. It's okay. Just remember your promise.”

“I haven't forgotten,” he assured, muted.

“Hey.” Curtis patted his chest again. “It's going to work out, love. We'll fix it. He won't have to die again.”

“In a way, he kind of will be, though.” The blond objected quietly.

“Qochata--”

“I'll keep my promise,” he sighed.

The sun hit them in the eyes with a blue-purple filter, and Curtis gasped, putting a hand to the scar at the edge of his hairline, then turned on his heel and launched himself backwards. Adam twisted at the same time and threw himself bodily at Shiro, tackling him to the ground. When the Dire lifted his head, Curtis was pushing himself up, staring in horror at the mess of ichor speckling Lance's chest and pooling underneath him. Curtis' mouth opened; Adam clapped his hands over his ears and dropped his torso over Shiro's head.

A horrendous noise escaped Curtis' throat, echoing through the cave system and burying the shriek that escaped Hunk. The cave shook alarmingly.

“Hunk, _no!_ ” Katie's voice was full of panic; the Cerberus, bearing only three of its heads, appeared with a 'pop' of displaced air and clamped its jaws on Adam's arm, dragging him towards the entrance. The Dire snarled and fought against the teeth in his sleeve, trying to get to the demons on the floor. A shadow crossed behind it and stepped to the side to let them out. A well-place kick from a powerful back leg nearly overbalanced the gryphon, but it sent Adam tumbling neatly out into the sands.

“Move it, idiots! People are shooting at us, the whole damned desert's shaking and there's a RAD storm on the way!” James half-dove into the cave and stopped to stare at Curtis crouching over Lance, beak parted to pant in pain. His shoulder bled from a deep gouge. “Curtis, we have to go. Curtis!”

“I _heard_ you!” The demon snarled, gathering Lance carefully up in his arms. “Katie, get Hunk moving. Allura, Sendak, Haxus, go to the fae realm. There isn't room for all of us in the van. Takashi!” The call snapped the man out of his daze and got him on his feet. “He's still breathing. I can't carry both of you.” He got to his feet and turned towards the entrance. James shuffled backwards. The light glinted off of eyes gone completely ice-blue with void-black cracks across their breadth. Blue raced across his skin like ink, leaving his freckles lighter spots of tan in a night-dark expanse.

Adam helped guide James out of the cave entrance and looked around for Shiro's wolf. The only sign of the creature was a set of pawprints leading away, across the sands. He turned back, let Curtis carry Lance past him, and moved to help Katie with Hunk. She pulled on the human to no avail, and gave Adam a small, wordless wail when the Dire arrived. The were raised a hand, shook his head regretfully, and swung his fist at the back of Hunk's ear.

The front of the cave collapsed to the sound of his howl as every bone in his hand shattered.

Loading Lance into the van, Curtis lifted his head and inhaled, then turned away and settled the younger demon into Shiro's lap. He vaulted into the driver's seat and started the van, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching RAD storm as the tires spun in the soft sand. The demon's hands glowed suddenly, intensely blue. There was a brief jerk, and they started moving forward. James' silhouette crossed over the windshield and the hood, racing ahead of the speeding vehicle to reach the city.

Curtis' hands stayed blue, keeping the sand beneath the tires frozen solid until it reached the edge of the road. He hit the roadway with a thump, bouncing the back of the van on the blacktop even though Shiro and Lance didn't notice the slightest disturbance.

“Curtis?” Shiro asked, trying to keep pressure on both sides of Lance's torso at the same time. “What about the others? I promised Katie--”

“She's perfectly safe, Takashi, she's just stuck right now and we don't have time to go back for them before the storm hits. We'll find another way into the cave system; she gave us all maps.” He glanced in the sideview mirror and watched the storm sweep over the pile of broken concrete and rebar that had been the framework for the entrance. “They better be okay,” he whispered fiercely. The window glass began to acquire ice crystals, and he shook his head to focus.

An energy shield was already formed over most of the city, leaving only the archways over the major roads open. The shield snapped down behind the van just as it passed through, missing the back bumper by inches as the storm crashed against it like a tidal wave. Curtis headed straight for the hospital, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Talk to me, Takashi,” he said urgently.

“He's still breathing,” the Cerberus assured, voice strained, “but he's losing a lot of fluids.”

“We're almost there,” Curtis rasped, “is it safe for you to keep feeding him?”

“He gets what I have,” Shiro whispered.

Curtis pulled the van up to the emergency doors, leaving it running as he dove into the back to throw open the side door. A pair of nurses came out rolling a gurney, and Shiro settled Lance onto it gently as he kept hold of the bleeding demon's hand. “I'm feeding him energy,” he told the nurses quickly, “I have to stay with him. Stay with me, Lance, please.” They gave him quick nods and ushered him inside with them.

The police officer at the doors gave Curtis a nod. “I'll escort you in once you park, sir,” he assured, and watched the demon drive away to leave the van in a parking spot.

As he trotted back up, the officer gave him a small wave and walked him inside, then left him at the nurse's station. Shiro, sitting in a chair beside it and covered in ichor, stared up at him in bewilderment. “Curtis? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where's Lance?”

“Shiro--” the demon pulled up short, putting a hand to the scar at the edge of his hairline. “What do you mean, 'where's Lance'? Isn't he in surgery? You came in with him, you were feeding him.”

“I.” the Cerberus put a hand to his head and shook it faintly. “I don't remember that. I don't. Curtis, where's Lance?”

The demon turned to the nurse behind the counter, who shook his head. “He came in with a gurney covered in ichor and two very confused members of our staff, sir. We ran a Geiger counter over him but he doesn't seem to be irradiated to a point that would explain this.”

“What the hell happened to the demon that was on that gurney?!” Curtis demanded, half-lurching over the counter.

“There wasn't one!” The nurse yelped, pushing backwards in his chair. “Sir, please!”

“Curtis, you said demons are telepathic with each other, right? Can't you listen?” Shiro asked muzzily. “Find him?”

“I tried that, Takashi.” Curtis looked over at him in irritation, then softened a bit and offered the Cerberus his hand. “It can't ever be that simple, can it? Come on. Let's get you cleaned up.” He ushered the older man back out through the waiting area and paused once they stepped out from under the overhang to squint angrily up at the blue-purple swirls crashing against the Sanctuary's shielding. “How are you feeling?” He asked quietly.

“My head feels muzzy. Was I hit?”

“Your head hit the ground when Adam tackled you, you probably have a concussion. It's not too bad, though, or I'd insist on having you seen.”

“But I can't remember where--”

“I have a sinking feeling that has nothing to do with your concussion, sweetheart. And a migraine that's just getting worse.” He put a hand to his scar and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“Curtis?” Shiro asked softly, taking his elbow. “Curtis?”

The demon wet his lips and shook his head again. “Yeah.”

“Aren't you worried about Adam?” The Cerberus straightened himself up, blinking several times to clear his mind.

“Hunk wouldn't call the earth down on his own head. They're all fine.” He watched the sky again, then nodded and headed for the van.

“You know that for sure?”

“I have to, or I will completely lose it. Dryreef can't afford that.” Curtis shot him a look over his shoulder, tipping his head to indicate his horns emphatically. “Besides Hunk's powers, Katie's a Holt. We could dig her out eighty years from now and she'd be fine, if a little pissy.”

“What about James? He was bleeding. Did he--”

“He was perched on the shield relay as we drove under it,” the demon assured, “they'll make sure he sees a qualified healer. The shot...” he shook his head, then frowned at the blacktop, “it never hits anything vital. Goes down to bone, but he'll be okay. They'll all be okay.”

Shiro followed him the rest of the way to the van in silence, then climbed into the passenger's seat and quietly watched him start up the vehicle. He waited until they were at the first stoplight before he spoke. “...You're Lance.”

Curtis dropped his head and twitched it to the side. “Not while I'm driving, Takashi.”

“And Lance is you. You said you and Adam knew--” He nearly bit himself when the steering wheel creaked alarmingly under Curtis' fingers. He looked the driver over carefully, brows drawing together. “Curtis?”

“ **Furl nel kadda e k'bali en neisch'o tuah e,** ” the demon manged. The light turned green; he pulled forward carefully, made his turn, and pulled into the parking lot of an electronics store to put the van in park. He put both hands to his head, sparkling blue-black claws parting soft brown hair, and panted. “It's not all back yet,” he said quietly, staring blankly down at the steering wheel, “I remember...cycles. Temporal cycles, about seven years each. I remember dozens of spells, each a little bit different from the one before, looping back on itself over and over, I--”

Shiro unbuckled his seatbelt and crawled across the space between the seats to reach a hand out to Curtis' shoulder. The frost spilling across the driver's side window warned him not to touch. “Hey,” he said softly instead, leaning over a little to try to get a look at the demon's face, “deep breaths, okay? Slow and even. Start from wherever feels like the right place. I'll catch up.”

Curtis stayed quiet for a few seconds, then wet his lips. “The bullet. It went through Nicky's shoulder, through Adam's hand, through—no, those were different cycles. It's all tangled.” He focused on his breathing while Shiro waited, then nodded again. “There are a dozen ways the bullet has gone through the rest of us,” he said slowly, “but it always went through Curtis in a fatal shot and hit me here.” He touched the scar at the edge of his hairline. “He always died protecting me. I couldn't—I shattered. I dug up time spells, traced them back through languages, found someone to translate them more accurately, cut through the unnecessary religious froufrou.”

The quiet dragged on again, and Shiro once more waited patiently as Curtis took a few slow, deep breaths. “It always goes wrong. I end up seven years in the past--”

“With amnesia and a bleeding head wound,” Shiro rocked back on his heels a little.

“And Qochata saves me, takes care of me. Curtis' is the only name I remember, so it's what he calls me.” He started to relax a little, leaning back from the steering wheel. Shiro saw the curve of a smile behind his bicep. “He helps me build a life, helps me get a job. We fall in love. Over and over and over again. Dozens of times, Takashi. I watch Curtis die to save me so many times and every single time I try to go back and stop it, it goes wrong. Qochata always promises me, when the nightmares start—the night Lance arrives in Dryreef—he promises that he'll protect Lance.” He lifted his hands to put them to his head, shaking. “He broke his promise this time and I can't even get mad at him because he's trapped in a cave-in in the middle of a radiation storm. And. And because it's my fault. I finally did it right, and it ended the time loop, but temporal magic--”

“Has a price,” the Cerberus whispered, “that's why I can't. Remember. Where.”

“He's gone, Takashi. I'm sorry. I'm so...I'm so sorry.” He covered his face with both hands and stifled a sob, then wrapped both arms around Shiro as the man half-rose again to hug him.

“He's not gone,” Shiro assured him quietly, “he's not gone, sweetheart, because you're here. You're right here. And Adam's going to be okay. We'll see him again, and then you can yell at him and I'll even tell him he's not allowed to object. Okay?”

The demon let out a wet laugh and gently bumped their foreheads together. “You think he'll listen to you?”

“Oh no, he'll probably argue,” the Cerberus agreed with a soft laugh, reaching up to cup Curtis' cheek, “but we can gang up on him anyway to show him how much we care. I can be a bigger dog, you know. I can sit on him until he behaves. Thirteen heads to lick him into submission.”

“Oh, stop, stop,” Curtis giggled, turning his head to nuzzle the other man gently. “My head is throbbing. Do you think you can drive with one hand?”

“Aa, that depends. It's an automatic, right?”

“Takashi, no one has made a manual transmission in hundreds of years.” Curtis unbuckled himself and edged around Shiro to get in the passenger's seat, but caught himself with a yelp when the Cerberus started to stand up a little too soon and almost sent him sprawling into the back. They grabbed hold of each other to keep from falling, and Curtis gave Shiro a smile. “When we're not all severely traumatized, you and Qochata and I should sit down and have a nice, long talk, little bird.” He let his hands slide gently over Shiro's hips, shifted him aside, then plopped himself into the passenger seat.

Shiro caught his breath, gripping the back of the driver's seat. “How do you expect me to drive with no blood above my shoulders?” He muttered as he buckled himself in.

“You seriously need an ointment for that or something, it's out of control,” the demon even managed to sound concerned through his mockery.

Shiro shook his head and pulled the van back out onto the road, heading for Adam and Curtis' house. “Are the RAD storms always this color?” The question bubbled up out of him at a stoplight.

“No, uh. They come in green, kind of a mustard-y yellow, uhm. The worst ones are this kind of, uhm. Bright white. The shield can keep pretty much everything else out, but the white ones burn so hot that every water-witch and void-caller works to pull it out of the air. I've been called in on those, too. It gets really humid under the shielding during the white ones.”

Shiro shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye, pulling ahead as the light turned green. “The water-witches use water from the local aquifer?”

Curtis opened his mouth, then rubbed at his face. The strange light from the storm raging overhead glinted off the shimmering flecks in his claws. “Fuck, we've all marinated in it several times aside from showers and baths. I hope that cure— _fuck_.”

“Yep, buried in the cave-in with Katie. In her pack.” The Cerberus tipped his head slightly. “And they won't know when it's safe to dig themselves out. Who knows how long it will be before our fae friends stick their heads back out of their realm--”

“I get it, I get it. When the storm's over, we're going to have to find a way to get them out of the tunnel.” Curtis loosely curled his fingers against his palm, not quite making a fist and pushing it against his diaphragm. “Oh, fuck. Hunk is in the dark and he just watched me get shot.” He turned slightly to press his forehead against the window. Ice crystals began to form.

“Slow, even breaths,” Shiro reminded him firmly.

The brilliant blue eyes fluttered closed, and Curtis made an effort to control his emotions. “Sorry, it's just. This migraine and these memories coming back, I'm,” he swallowed hard, “twenty-four and thirty-one all at the same time for a few hundred years in a single lump. On top of that I'm remembering dozens of times I've apparently watched me take a bullet for myself so I'm extremely, uhm--”

“High-strung?” The suggestion came in a tone of gentle amusement.

“Basically having rolling panic attacks, yeah. I have some, uhm. Mild sedatives at home that work. Demon equivalent to valium, really.” The thought of the medicine brought a smile to Curtis' face, and he relaxed a little in anticipation, letting out a soft sigh.

“You're on mood stabilizers?” Shiro shot him a quick glance, surprised.

“I have anxiety and temperature control powers. Yeah, Takashi. I'm on mood stabilizers.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I'm sorry, that was...sharp. I'll feel better once I take my meds.”

“Would ice help with your migraine?” He asked delicately.

The demon laughed wryly and wiggled his fingers. “No ice, no heat. My body adjusts. Doesn't often malfunction, but uhm. When it does, pretty much the best I can do is hope someone down in the Night Market has a remedy on hand that will work for me.”

“So kind of hit or miss, then?” Shiro's sideways smile was sympathetic.

“Yeah, not entirely great if I get really bad. Like now. The ingredients for the migraine remedy have to be fresh, so we can't keep any on hand. Qochata's always looking for possible alternatives. He even had me brain scanned to make sure I don't have cancer. The hum from the machine was very pleasant.”

“Isn't that. Impossible for demons?”

“Highly improbable,” Curtis sighed, “but technically not impossible. Qochata heard that and flew into panic mode. He fusses. You'll have to be careful if you stay, Takashi—he'll fuss over you, too.” He turned his head enough to share his little smile.

“Curtis?”

“Hm?”

“I'll try not to say his name. I don't want to hurt you. But.” Shiro pressed his lips together, trying to find a way to express how his grief had engraved Lance's name on every layer of his heart.

“Hey. You love him. I'm not going to object to that. I've uhm. Had a couple hundred years to get over the way you broke it, so on the bright side, the horribly planned time loop uhm. Sorted that out for you.” Curtis' smile turned awkward.

“It's a relief to know you're not still mad at me, considering you're back to being nine feet tall with horns, fangs, and claws,” the Cerberus' sideways glance was a little dry, but it turned curious as he turned onto the Whitehorse's street. “Were you. Expecting company?” He pulled into the driveway and put the van in park, tensing as he recognized the young man sitting on the stoop throwing something into the stony yard in a bored game of fetch with a large grey-black dog with a very square muzzle. “Vorash?” He whispered to himself, not noticing the small twitch the name pulled from Curtis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Furl nel kadda e k'bali en neisch'o tuah e--(loosely)My head hurts when you say his name


End file.
